Hubby and I are celebrating our 5th anniversary on March 15. We've been talking for several months now about what we would like to do to celebrate the momentous occasion. (Short of buying me a new diamond, of course). For our honeymoon and for all subsequent anniversaries, we have gone to a little mountain town about 30 miles west of where we live. We're tired of little mountain town. We love little mountain town, but in March (the off season), everything in little mountain town shuts down by about 8 or 9 p.m. Anniversary #2 was spent in our little room eating licorice....because the grocery store was closed...it was 9:00 p.m.
This event has to be planned quite a ways into the future because, well, while the grandparents love their kids, for some reason they seem to like to have some advance notice when they are going to be keeping our kids for four or five days. Go figure.
Long before the idea was born to write My Story on my blog, hubby and I had been discussing taking a trip out to Arizona to visit this important part of my history. Not only do I think it would be great for him to see where I spent the most important 3 or 4 months of my life, but I'd like to take a walk down memory lane; see if there is anyone there remaining that was there when I was.
Of course, we couldn't go to Arizona without also taking in the Grand Canyon; Lake Powell; other great sights in Arizona. (Also, the thought of escaping this winter waste-land in which I live and being able to wear short sleeves and light jackets is rather appealing.)
So, if all goes well and as planned, we'll be heading to Arizona a little over a month. Looking forward to it with great anticipation.
Jan 16, 2007
Jan 15, 2007
Aspiring Beautician She Is
Care Bear got ahold of scissors at Grandma's house Saturday whilst Mommy and Daddy were at praise band practice. Feisty was the victim.
The front view
I think she may have been going for the raver look. What do you think?
So, Grandma took her to a more "seasoned" hairstylist. You know, one who's been through an apprenticeship and has the right to take a pair of scissors to the hair.
The front view
The back view.
Please make me feel better and tell me my adorable daughter doesn't look like a boy.
Grandma must have been busy watching Dr. Phil. It's all good Grandma. Just hide the scissors better, eh?
Jan 12, 2007
The Final Chapter
If you missed the first four installments of this series and are interested in reading it, I have added them to my sidebar under the heading "My Story". Also, if you haven't already, please head over to my Mom's blog and read the story from a Mother's point of view.
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My stay in the "residential living" facility in Chandler, Arizona was not quite as a positive experience as my stay at the Ranch had been. It was a pilot program and I was among the first five residents. There were a lot of quirks to be worked out and those of us that were staying there fell victim to the quirks. Staff came and went; the therapy sessions were un-organized and not very helpful. The nutritionist left a lot to be desired. We basically kind of just lived there for three months co-existing and doing a whole lot of nothing. I got a job at the photo lab at Wal-Mart since one of the requirements was to either go to school or get a job. Since the program was only supposed to last three months, I didn't see any use in going to school.
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My stay in the "residential living" facility in Chandler, Arizona was not quite as a positive experience as my stay at the Ranch had been. It was a pilot program and I was among the first five residents. There were a lot of quirks to be worked out and those of us that were staying there fell victim to the quirks. Staff came and went; the therapy sessions were un-organized and not very helpful. The nutritionist left a lot to be desired. We basically kind of just lived there for three months co-existing and doing a whole lot of nothing. I got a job at the photo lab at Wal-Mart since one of the requirements was to either go to school or get a job. Since the program was only supposed to last three months, I didn't see any use in going to school.
I experienced a few difficulties at this facility and before the three months was up, I ended up going home. I hadn't relapsed; I wasn't back into my unhealthy eating habits, but it hadn't ended up being what I really needed. I could have gone home straight after the Ranch and been as in good of shape as I was when I went to Chandler. However, it did afford me a few more months of time before I had to truly get back into the "real world" and test my new found knowledge of myself and my illness. (I must qualify all of this by saying that I'm sure that with 11 years under it's belt that this Residential treatment facility is now flourishing and every bit as wonderful and helpful as the Ranch itself for assisting those just leaving the Ranch.)
By this point in time, I was a healthy 115 pounds. The plan was to head back home for a couple of weeks and then head back to Kansas to go to school again. It was only October by this time, so until the fall semester ended, I would stay with the woman who had given my mom the connection to Remuda Ranch; who I had worked with at the Orthopedic Surgeons Office. I went out there to live with them, rent free, and find a job until school started in the spring.
I got a pretty good job out there working as a customer service representative for a credit card company. I enjoyed the job and it was good to be back in Kansas where my friend and roomate lived. She was now married, and I had found three other girls to room with when school started again in the spring.
However, once again, things on the school front were not to work out for me. I went home that Christmas to be with my family and while I was on the plane on my way home, the woman I lived with called my mom and told her that I wouldn't be able to return and continue living with them. One of her reasons? I left dishes in the sink rather than washing them and putting them away. They were rather OCD. I was devastated and once again felt like a failure. It was only two weeks until the semester was to begin; yet they weren't willing to let me come back for two weeks so I could go to school. I ended up quitting my job and dropping out of school for that semester, once again. Looking back on it now, I'm sure I could have found someone to stay with for those two weeks. Or I could have remained at home for those two weeks and gone back when school started. But I had taken a giant step backwards in my confidence level and felt the need to be back at home; in my familiar surroundings. Having had that blow to my self-esteem and being away from home, I could have easily slipped back into my behaviors. So I came back home. Again. I have never again heard from or spoken to the woman that I lived with and worked with and was so good to me for so long.
I ended up going to the community college for the next couple of semesters and remained at home until January of the following year when I took a giant leap and moved into my own apartment with a roommate in the town north of my parents. I haven't lived at home since.
That was ten years ago. The same month I moved in with my new roommate, I got my job where I currently work. I have not once slipped back into my anorexic behavior. That is not to say that life has been all roses since that time. Hardly. I've had a lot of things I've dealt with since that time; but happily, none of them have caused me to go back. I've had boyfriends; I've had plenty of heart-break. I've had more than one (count them four) bad roommate situations, several more apartments; financial difficulty; a "sowing my wild oats" period of my life where I decided I was tired of being the "good girl" that never did anything wrong. But through it all, I can honestly say that I have never again looked at a fat gram; or a calorie; or counted how many servings of carbs or protein or "optional calories" I've eaten. I can't remember the last time I worked out. My favorite foods are nothing you would consider exactly "healthy". I eat fries; I eat pizza; I eat ice cream; I eat chips; I eat cookies. I eat all the things that I used to consider my "fear foods" without a moments thought. Something changed in my metabolism after I went through this because I still get an occasional glance or look or "concerned question" from people who wonder if I still have that "eating problem". And all I have to say to this is: "Hey. I eat...and I eat what I want. That's all I can do". So to those people who still think I have an eating problem I say, "Phooey on you. I know where I am. And I know I eat fine. You don't believe me? It's your problem". Nothing ticks me off more to this day when people comment about my weight. Leave me alone already!! I'm not what a doctor might consider my "ideal weight". Probably about ten pounds under. But I'm fine. It's been 11.5 years since I left the Ranch.
So, where am I now? I'm 32 years old. I have a husband of almost five years and three beautiful children who I am extremely blessed to have. Not all women who come through an eating disorder are ever able to have children. I live in a nice home in a nice neighborhood. I have a job in which I just celebrated my 10 year anniversary on Monday. I have friends.
My life is by no means perfect. Whose is? But I feel blessed to be where I am today. Blessed to have what I have. Blessed for all the people who got me through this ordeal that now seems light years away. Blessed to have found Remuda Ranch. Blessed to have life. It's been quite a ride thus far.
To end this series, I would like to post an essay or story of sorts that I wrote shortly after returning from Arizona entitled "The Metamorphisis". I posted this almost a year ago when I first started blogging regularly, but thought it would be a good way to end My Story:
THE METAMORPHISIS
Imagine for amoment with me that you are in your backyard. As you wander through the grass, admiring the crisp fall air, the beautiful leaves turning colors of gold and ash and red, you begin to imagine.
The air smells sweet and has a touch of winter to it. You can picture yourself very soon sitting by the fire, popping popcorn and enjoying being with yourl oved ones at Christmas as you share fond memories of holidays past. As you begin to come out of your reverie, your eyes come face to face with a cocoon, balancing itself onone of the leaves of a tree. You admire it, and you revel at the amazement of the transformation that is happening within that little haven.
An unattractive, rejected creature is going through a metamorphosis that will result in one of the most beautiful creatures God has ever created.....a butterfly. It is completely unique to itself, and unlike any other ever created. Its wings consist of almost every color in the rainbow. Its shape allows it to soar over the earth. It is gentle and humble, un-harming, yet able to take care of itself. You smile to yourself, thank God for smal lwonders, and walk back into your house where Mom has prepared a wonderful meal that your whole family will undoubtedly gorge itself on. The cocoon slips out of your mind, to be un-thought of again until you happen to run across another. You are completely unaware of what is happening within the cocoon....
Outside, the wind begins to blow, rocking the fragile leaf that houses the precious creature inside. Inside the cocoon sits the creature, in a precarious state. Will it make it? Or will the stormy weathers outside its safe shell wreak havoc on the process it is undergoing? It shivers. It can see outside, but it's very foggy. It is completely aware of its surroundings, but unable to attach emotion to it. After all, it's between worlds. It's in a shell, unable to love, live, or communicate until that shell is broken. Until it can spread it's wings and fly and show its beauty to the world. But will it get that chance? Not if the cruel world with its stormy weather and unpredictable circumstances have anything to do with it. No, this creature must rely on a greater force. One that can withstand all the trials and tribulations that it must go through to get there. But it's unable to see, and understand. It must rely on trust. It tries to see out, to understand what's going on in the outside world. It wants to relate, to commune with nature and all of God's creatures. But it's stuck. Bound by a greater force. A hard wall that is strong enough to keep it locked in, but not strong enough to keep out the knowledge that the world is out there. With great effort the creature struggles, and eventually gets enough strength up to push. But to no avail. The wall is as solid as a rock. It tries again. Still no luck. With several more efforts, the creature resigns to the fact that it is stuck there, sighs, and leans against the wall of its prison. "Will I ever get out of here?"it wonders. "Will I ever be able to see the world as everyone else sees it?" It feels alone, lost, scared and unsure. It only longs to be like everyone else, like all the other creatures out there that have already completed their METAMORPHISIS. But alas, it must wait. Hoping it lives through all the obstacles it must live through. It's tired of being on the outside looking in. It's tired of being in a body it feels uncomfortable in. It's tired of being trapped, knowing there's better things out there, but they're so far out of reach, and it has no idea how to bring them within reach. It's just tired. Out of place. Alone.
This scenario describes just as I felt while enduring an eating disorder. It may also be the way many others feel while going through many other types of issues. I was trapped. I knew what was happening, but there wasn't a thing I could do about it. I had no way out. I was an outsider looking in, but unable to be a part of the life I was observing. Like the caterpillar hovering in its cocoon, I was trapped in my own private hell. I watched the world around me, enjoying all the beauty, and everyday activities, but I was completely unable to be a participant. I became withdrawn, preventing myself from being hurt by outside forces. I distanced myself from my family and friends, and became a person that I myself didn't even recognize. What was this strange and unfamiliar creature that was living within me; this disease that had overtaken my body? I tried over and over but to no avail, to try to break that wall, free myself of the prison that I had put myself in. I was lonely, tired, out of place and alone. "What is the purpose of this?", I questioned to myself and to God every single day of my life. Why me, God? Why am I going through this hell? No answer that I got ever satisfied me. And I knew I was stuck. The knowledge of what I was doing to myself superseded the fear of getting fat, of losing control and being unable to regain it. I couldn't let that happen. So I continued to harm myself. I was in danger of not completing the METAMORPHISIS that God was trying to achieve. The outside forces of the world that rocked my safe little haven were threatening to win. Would I make it? Luckily, I did. But not without months of in-patient treatment, and the love and support of my family and friends, and most importantly my final resignation to put my faith, trust, and life in the hands of my creator.....the one who would indeed complete that transformation. It's not an easy thing to overcome, in fact, it's the hardest task I've ever had to accomplish in my whole life. But the end result is amazing......
After what seems forever, the creature begins to stir. It had given up the fight, admitted to the fact that it wasn't its fight in the first place, and placed its well-being in the capable hands of it's creator. It was a terribly hard thing to do, but when that stubborn wall refused to break on its own, and when that fog that clouded its vision refused to lift, it decided it had no choice but to wait....and wait....and wait....and trust that that greater force knew what it was doing. Not that the creature didn't work....Oh, no....it worked with all it's might. For, you see, once it put it's faith and trust in its creator, things began to happen. And the work became a mission to become all it could be and free itself of that horrible prison. And eventually it did....it didn't happen all at once, but day by day, the wall became softer, and the fog became thinner, and the terribly strong strings that had bound it began to unravel. And one day,without even realizing it, they were gone. It had been such a slow subtle process, that it didn't even realize that it was at this very moment soaring over the earth, the wind through its wings, with more freedom than it had ever imagined. Beautiful in its own right, because it was unique.
The butterfly never forgot those days that it spent in that cocoon. While it was a trying and difficult time, and it would never want to repeat it, the experience taught it strength, perseverance, character, and the ability to put its total trust and faith in something it couldn't see, touch, or hear. And the result....total METAMORPHISIS.
By Kristen P.
October 1995
Thanks for taking time to read my story. If it has helped, inspired, or encouraged even one person, then I'm happy that I took the time to write it. It's been quite an experience re-living it all, and I thank you for reading it. 
Love,
Kristen
Where I Was Then....Remuda Ranch
So, I wasn't planning on having this series be quite so long. I originally had planned for a total of three posts, but I guess I'm a little more long-winded than I realize. I think I should be wrapping it up in the next couple of posts. We'll see. If it's getting just too long....let me know.
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I don't remember much at all about the drive to the airport or the flight out to Arizona. I only remember getting to the check-in counter at the airport and being asked by the person checking me in if I needed assistance in the plane from a flight attendant. She thought I was twelve years old. I indignantly informed her that, "No. I do not need assistance. I'm 20 years old!" Needless to say, I think she was quite embarrassed.
When arriving in Arizona, a representative from Remuda Ranch was standing at the gate holding a sign up with my name. The drive from the airport to the ranch was about 1.5 hours. It was a long ride for me. I didn't talk much to my "chauffer" and stared out the window most of the time taking in the sights of this state that I had not visited before. The highway was lined with cactuses. The land was dry. It was more than just a little hot and arid. I wasn't sure quite what to expect from this new adventure I was about to embark on. What I did know was that I was tired of being in the situation I was in. I was tired of being tired; tired of feeling like I was on the outside looking in. Tired of the constant struggle and battle that I was having with myself. Logically, I knew I needed to eat to live, but that struggle within myself and the fear of losing control was still there. The help I had received up to that point from my parents, from my nutritionist and from other people who cared about me, although appreciated, was not quite enough.
Trust was an issue for me at that point. Not trust in that I didn't trust the people that were helping me, but trust that the people who were trying to help me were trying to change me somehow. I was scared to leave this control I had established for myself; even though I knew at this point that the control was gone. But I was so exhausted that I was ready to be helped. I had established a relationship with the admissions counselor who admitted me to the Ranch and I felt safe going there, even though I had never met her in person. Somehow I knew and trusted that where I was going that I was going to be OK there. I felt less scared going there than I did to any college I had attempted up to that point. I know that part of that had to do with the fact that I was going to be taken care of. I had obviously not reached a point in my life where I felt confident enough in myself to be on my own; to be independent; and to feel like an adult who could manage life on her own.
One thing that I have learned throughout my experience and through watching the other people at the Ranch is that in order to really truly successfully beat the Anorexia/Bulimia/eating disordered monster, a person must want the help and be ready to accept it. Without that, truly trying to get someone help for it is useless. Sure, they can go to the hospital and get tubes put in them to force them to physically gain weight. They can go to all the therapists in the world, but until the person is ready for help and realizes that there is a problem, it won't truly be solved. I was ready for the help. I longed for the person I used to be; the happy-go-lucky, not a care in the world young woman I had left behind only two short years before.
When I arrived at the Ranch, I was in awe. The beauty of my surroundings was breath-taking. The Ranch sat on top of a hill in the foothills of a little town called Wickenburg, Arizona. From the highest point, I could look down and see the town and the beauty below me. There was a "main house" that housed the dining room, a large sitting room with a large screen TV and couches, and two or three residents rooms. Outside there was a beautiful porch and sitting area with a swing for relaxing. Below the main house was a housing area that consisted of about 10 rooms for more residents and below that were two small houses; one consisting of four more rooms and another that had two more bedrooms and the art room. There was a boarding house that housed about a dozen horses and a ring for riding the horses. There were two dogs that lived on the Ranch; one whom I remember was named "Ugly" because he was truly, well....ugly.
After I took my tour of the Ranch, I was introduced to my "big sister" Rachelle. Each new resident is given another resident to act as their "big sister" throughout their early days. Rachelle was very outgoing and very kind and made me feel at ease right away. Lucky for me, (tongue in cheek), I arrived just as the residents were getting ready to eat lunch. My first meal was pizza. As a new resident "enjoying" my first meal, I was given lee-way and was not forced to eat it and there were no penalties if I didn't. After that, all bets were off. At meal times, there are about four to a table and the table is monitored by a staff person. You are required to eat everything on your plate in the allotted time (1/2 hour) and if your meal is not completed within that time, then they give you a huge glass of Ensure to drink to suppliement the calores you did not consume with your meal. After meals, bathroom visits were also monitored by a staff person. (for obvious reasons).
There were four levels that you could achieve as a resident. With the graduation to each level, you were granted more priveleges. Very few people ever reached level four. As a new resident, you are automatically on Level 1. This level granted literally no privileges and you were monitored very closely. Level 4 allowed "free-reign" of the Ranch; the ability to walk around with no staff present and a seat at the "family style" table at meals where you were able to serve yourself food. Prior to sitting at the "family style" table your meals (which were custom made to each individuals needs) was sitting on a counter to be picked up as you enter the cafeteria.
My first few days at the Ranch were difficult. I had to complete all sorts of surveys, tests, visits with the staff doctor, psychiatrist and nutritionist. It wasn't until I was there for about three days before I got to get involved in the every day life of the Ranch. I also was not allowed to call my parents.
My feelings the first few days after observing the other residents made me feel like perhaps I didn't belong there. There were others there who were so obviously worse off than I was. I entered the Ranch right at 100 lbs. But there were girls there with feeding tubes up their noses, girls who were literal skeletons and sometimes I felt as I was walking around there being looked at like, "What is she doing here?!" I can honestly say that I was one of the "heavier" girls there. One girl, who ended up being my best friend at the Ranch was a mere 85 lbs. One girl took up to 200 laxatives a day. One girl had already been there for 3 months (the typical stay at the Ranch is six weeks). Some had been suffering with the disorder for the large majority of their lives. I was a "newbie" having only been in it for two years.
I soon became immersed in my life at the Ranch. Activities throughout the day included group therapy sessions, individual therapy, Equine therapy (we got our own horse and got to ride it twice a week; once in the ring, once throughout the hills surrounding the Ranch), Art Therapy, chapel, nutrition, and various others. We got weighed every single morning before breakfast. I began to slowly gain weight.
As time went by, I made some wonderful friends there. These girls were kindred spirits. They were going through the same thing I was and we understood eachother. I felt myself coming alive again. The unconditional love, acceptance and friendship I felt from every person I encountered at the Ranch was un-matched. I started to not care when I saw the numbers going up on the scale. I moved up in the various levels and when I was moved up to level 3, I got elected as "mayor" of the residents. This wasn't a huge responsibility, but a new mayor is elected every two weeks, and I got my turn. I made announcements at meals; I was in charge of finding big sisters for new incoming residents. I became one of the residents that the "new girls" looked up to when they arrived at the Ranch.
By the end of my six weeks at the Ranch, I felt like a new person. I felt loved, accepted, confident and more sure of myself. However, I didn't want to leave. I experienced some of my friends leaving and I was wishing I could just stay at this safe haven forever. But I couldn't. My therapist recommended that I move onto the new "half-way house" program they had started in Chandler, Arizona. This would be an additional 3 month program in which I lived in a neighborhood with several other residents; we continued with therapy programs, a nutritionist and could either get a job or go to school. It seemed like the perfect transition for me...
Part 5 Tomorrow: Beyond Remuda
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I don't remember much at all about the drive to the airport or the flight out to Arizona. I only remember getting to the check-in counter at the airport and being asked by the person checking me in if I needed assistance in the plane from a flight attendant. She thought I was twelve years old. I indignantly informed her that, "No. I do not need assistance. I'm 20 years old!" Needless to say, I think she was quite embarrassed.
When arriving in Arizona, a representative from Remuda Ranch was standing at the gate holding a sign up with my name. The drive from the airport to the ranch was about 1.5 hours. It was a long ride for me. I didn't talk much to my "chauffer" and stared out the window most of the time taking in the sights of this state that I had not visited before. The highway was lined with cactuses. The land was dry. It was more than just a little hot and arid. I wasn't sure quite what to expect from this new adventure I was about to embark on. What I did know was that I was tired of being in the situation I was in. I was tired of being tired; tired of feeling like I was on the outside looking in. Tired of the constant struggle and battle that I was having with myself. Logically, I knew I needed to eat to live, but that struggle within myself and the fear of losing control was still there. The help I had received up to that point from my parents, from my nutritionist and from other people who cared about me, although appreciated, was not quite enough.
Trust was an issue for me at that point. Not trust in that I didn't trust the people that were helping me, but trust that the people who were trying to help me were trying to change me somehow. I was scared to leave this control I had established for myself; even though I knew at this point that the control was gone. But I was so exhausted that I was ready to be helped. I had established a relationship with the admissions counselor who admitted me to the Ranch and I felt safe going there, even though I had never met her in person. Somehow I knew and trusted that where I was going that I was going to be OK there. I felt less scared going there than I did to any college I had attempted up to that point. I know that part of that had to do with the fact that I was going to be taken care of. I had obviously not reached a point in my life where I felt confident enough in myself to be on my own; to be independent; and to feel like an adult who could manage life on her own.
One thing that I have learned throughout my experience and through watching the other people at the Ranch is that in order to really truly successfully beat the Anorexia/Bulimia/eating disordered monster, a person must want the help and be ready to accept it. Without that, truly trying to get someone help for it is useless. Sure, they can go to the hospital and get tubes put in them to force them to physically gain weight. They can go to all the therapists in the world, but until the person is ready for help and realizes that there is a problem, it won't truly be solved. I was ready for the help. I longed for the person I used to be; the happy-go-lucky, not a care in the world young woman I had left behind only two short years before.
When I arrived at the Ranch, I was in awe. The beauty of my surroundings was breath-taking. The Ranch sat on top of a hill in the foothills of a little town called Wickenburg, Arizona. From the highest point, I could look down and see the town and the beauty below me. There was a "main house" that housed the dining room, a large sitting room with a large screen TV and couches, and two or three residents rooms. Outside there was a beautiful porch and sitting area with a swing for relaxing. Below the main house was a housing area that consisted of about 10 rooms for more residents and below that were two small houses; one consisting of four more rooms and another that had two more bedrooms and the art room. There was a boarding house that housed about a dozen horses and a ring for riding the horses. There were two dogs that lived on the Ranch; one whom I remember was named "Ugly" because he was truly, well....ugly.
After I took my tour of the Ranch, I was introduced to my "big sister" Rachelle. Each new resident is given another resident to act as their "big sister" throughout their early days. Rachelle was very outgoing and very kind and made me feel at ease right away. Lucky for me, (tongue in cheek), I arrived just as the residents were getting ready to eat lunch. My first meal was pizza. As a new resident "enjoying" my first meal, I was given lee-way and was not forced to eat it and there were no penalties if I didn't. After that, all bets were off. At meal times, there are about four to a table and the table is monitored by a staff person. You are required to eat everything on your plate in the allotted time (1/2 hour) and if your meal is not completed within that time, then they give you a huge glass of Ensure to drink to suppliement the calores you did not consume with your meal. After meals, bathroom visits were also monitored by a staff person. (for obvious reasons).
There were four levels that you could achieve as a resident. With the graduation to each level, you were granted more priveleges. Very few people ever reached level four. As a new resident, you are automatically on Level 1. This level granted literally no privileges and you were monitored very closely. Level 4 allowed "free-reign" of the Ranch; the ability to walk around with no staff present and a seat at the "family style" table at meals where you were able to serve yourself food. Prior to sitting at the "family style" table your meals (which were custom made to each individuals needs) was sitting on a counter to be picked up as you enter the cafeteria.
My first few days at the Ranch were difficult. I had to complete all sorts of surveys, tests, visits with the staff doctor, psychiatrist and nutritionist. It wasn't until I was there for about three days before I got to get involved in the every day life of the Ranch. I also was not allowed to call my parents.
My feelings the first few days after observing the other residents made me feel like perhaps I didn't belong there. There were others there who were so obviously worse off than I was. I entered the Ranch right at 100 lbs. But there were girls there with feeding tubes up their noses, girls who were literal skeletons and sometimes I felt as I was walking around there being looked at like, "What is she doing here?!" I can honestly say that I was one of the "heavier" girls there. One girl, who ended up being my best friend at the Ranch was a mere 85 lbs. One girl took up to 200 laxatives a day. One girl had already been there for 3 months (the typical stay at the Ranch is six weeks). Some had been suffering with the disorder for the large majority of their lives. I was a "newbie" having only been in it for two years.
I soon became immersed in my life at the Ranch. Activities throughout the day included group therapy sessions, individual therapy, Equine therapy (we got our own horse and got to ride it twice a week; once in the ring, once throughout the hills surrounding the Ranch), Art Therapy, chapel, nutrition, and various others. We got weighed every single morning before breakfast. I began to slowly gain weight.
As time went by, I made some wonderful friends there. These girls were kindred spirits. They were going through the same thing I was and we understood eachother. I felt myself coming alive again. The unconditional love, acceptance and friendship I felt from every person I encountered at the Ranch was un-matched. I started to not care when I saw the numbers going up on the scale. I moved up in the various levels and when I was moved up to level 3, I got elected as "mayor" of the residents. This wasn't a huge responsibility, but a new mayor is elected every two weeks, and I got my turn. I made announcements at meals; I was in charge of finding big sisters for new incoming residents. I became one of the residents that the "new girls" looked up to when they arrived at the Ranch.
By the end of my six weeks at the Ranch, I felt like a new person. I felt loved, accepted, confident and more sure of myself. However, I didn't want to leave. I experienced some of my friends leaving and I was wishing I could just stay at this safe haven forever. But I couldn't. My therapist recommended that I move onto the new "half-way house" program they had started in Chandler, Arizona. This would be an additional 3 month program in which I lived in a neighborhood with several other residents; we continued with therapy programs, a nutritionist and could either get a job or go to school. It seemed like the perfect transition for me...
Part 5 Tomorrow: Beyond Remuda
Jan 11, 2007
Where I Was Then...The Road To Remuda
Before I start this installment, I just wanted to say "thanks" to those for commenting on my "poor me" post just below. I really wasn't trying to sound like I was feeling sorry for myself, although it probably ended up sounding that way. Regardless, thanks for "de-lurking" and for all the nice, re-affirming comments you left. And thanks to Janice at 5 Minutes For Mom for linking to this series and to Diane for letting Janice know about it.
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After being given the "OK" by my nutritionist to give college a second shot, we once again packed up my belongings and headed south to Oklahoma. I was filled with fear and trepidation wondering if I would succeed this time, or if I once again would end up coming home with another failed semester under my belt. Yes, I had gained the weight that my nutritionist had required of me; I had spent several months back at home healing and relaxing. But how would I feel once my parents left me again and were hundreds of miles away from me?
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After being given the "OK" by my nutritionist to give college a second shot, we once again packed up my belongings and headed south to Oklahoma. I was filled with fear and trepidation wondering if I would succeed this time, or if I once again would end up coming home with another failed semester under my belt. Yes, I had gained the weight that my nutritionist had required of me; I had spent several months back at home healing and relaxing. But how would I feel once my parents left me again and were hundreds of miles away from me?
I had high hopes for the semester. I had a new roommate; one I had met and become acquainted with in the two weeks I was there before; I had a few friends I had made that were anxious to have me return.
Within about two weeks of being there, I discovered that my new roommate appeared to be using me as a "learning tool" on how to become skinny. She asked me for tips, constantly ate my "safe foods" (I had gotten to the point where I quit obsessively counted the optional calories and would allow myself once in a while to partake in a Snackwells cookie or two without counting the extra clories) and began self-induced vomiting. This obviously was not a healthy environment for me to be in while I was attempting to succeed and become healthy.
I eventually got permission from the school to move out of the dormitories and move in for the remainder of the semester with my grandparents who lived only blocks away from campus. I rarely participated in any of the activities at school and after moving away from campus, found it even more difficult to do so and the motivation to try wasn't there. Although it appeared like I was going to complete the semester, my heart wasn't in it. I began communicating with my life long best friend who was going to the Nazarene College in Olathe, Kansas. I even drove out there by myself for a weekend visit with her and became acquainted with some of her friends and even met a guy. Guys had been the last thing on my mind for quite some time needless to say, so the fact that I felt interest and he seemed to as well made me feel somewhat "alive" again. As well, being with someone who was extremely familiar to me was also a comfort. By the end of my semester, I had decided that I was going to leave my current college and go out to Kansas the following school year to room with my best friend.
I don't recall much about the summer following my freshman year of college, which must be a good thing because it means that I wasn't going through anything terribly memorable. I do know that I continued to see my nutritionist throughout the summer, although with less frequency than I had before.
When the summer was over, and I packed up to go to school in Kansas this time, I had a completely different feeling. It was one of excitement and anticipation. I think a lot of that had to do with the fact that I would be rooming with someone I knew my whole life. There was familiarity and comfort in that fact for me. She knew me better than anyone else in my life, probably, besides my parents.
We enjoyed a great first semester together. We were inseparable. We went shopping, to Tippins restaurant to eat cornbread and chicken noodle soup; to the St. Louis Bread Factory to eat their bread bowl soup. We loved to go to movies and pick up a bag of Jelly Bellies to eat during the movie. We taped Days Of Our Lives during the day and watched it together in the evening before we retired faithfully every night at 10:00 (we were rather nerdy college students....I mean, who EVER goes to bed at 10:00 pm in college....we did!) One particularly snowy weekend around Christmas, we sat in our beds all day looking at our homey little Christmas decorated room and cross-stitched. I have very great memories of that semester with her.
Over Christmas vacation, my best friend and college roommate got engaged to her long-time boyfriend. The plan was for them to get married in the summer after that school year was over. While I was happy for her, all of a sudden I felt insecure again. This would mean that I would no longer be able to have her as a roommate. While I didn't realize it at the time, my fall back into losing weight and unhealthy eating was due to my uncertainties of the following school year; not having her as my comfort.
Over the course of the 2nd semseter, I began to rapidly lose weight again. I would come home in the evenings from classes and after work and eat half a can of chicken noodle soup. I would save the rest for the next night. I would have a couple of pretzels or animal crackers throughout the day and that was all. I began to rapidly lose weight again. My roommate was unaware of my eating habits because she worked in the evenings at a car dealership. She was, however, noticing the rapid loss of weight. She began asking me what I had for dinner that evening. Sometimes I would tell her I went to the cafeteria, sometimes I would tell her I went out to get something. Other times I would tell the truth. I didn't want to be harassed about how and what I was eating.
Eventually, my employers at the orthopedic surgeons office I worked for began to notice the weight loss as well. Word got back to my parents and they began to research what should be done for me. I don't remember how they found Remuda Ranch , but through their research, they decided this was where I was going to go. I had to go through a lengthy interview process with the admissions staff there; I had to be evaluated by a nutritionist, a doctor and a psychiatrist to determine if Remuda was the right fit for me. And it was. I was set to be a bridesmaid in my roommates wedding on June 10 of that year, and the following Monday, I would be leaving for Arizona and entering into the best thing that ever happened to me....
Part 4: At Remuda Tomorrow
Visit my mom if you are interested in reading this story from a mother's point of view.
Jan 10, 2007
A Little Disheartened
Let me just first say that this in no way is me begging for comments. I don't like it when other people beg for comments, so there is no way I would do it.
I do have to say, though, that for some reason it seems that things I have been writing lately don't seem to be of interest to anyone. The last two days, I have posted something that means a lot to me; it is a part of who I am, it is a difficult journey that I went through and came past. It defines who I am to this day, and I thought it would be a way for people to get to know me better; give more insight to who I am. But it doesn't seem like anyone is really interested in reading it.
Thanks to those that have read it and commented on it. Your comments and kind words mean a lot to me.
Re-living the experience has brought up a lot of memories for me; some good, some not so good. So, before I invest anymore of my time and effort on writing about this, what I want to know is if it's worth it. I'm not asking for people to comment if you really don't want to. But if what I've written has meant anything to you, please let me know. Because I feel like possibly investing any more time on this topic is not worth it.
I'll quit my whining now. I'm really not feeling sorry for myself. I just kind of thought this topic would be of more interest to people.
Thanks for listening.
Oh, and guess what?! I've come into the 21st century and finally have a computer. We're getting our internet hooked up this evening. I can now post from home. Yay for me.
I do have to say, though, that for some reason it seems that things I have been writing lately don't seem to be of interest to anyone. The last two days, I have posted something that means a lot to me; it is a part of who I am, it is a difficult journey that I went through and came past. It defines who I am to this day, and I thought it would be a way for people to get to know me better; give more insight to who I am. But it doesn't seem like anyone is really interested in reading it.
Thanks to those that have read it and commented on it. Your comments and kind words mean a lot to me.
Re-living the experience has brought up a lot of memories for me; some good, some not so good. So, before I invest anymore of my time and effort on writing about this, what I want to know is if it's worth it. I'm not asking for people to comment if you really don't want to. But if what I've written has meant anything to you, please let me know. Because I feel like possibly investing any more time on this topic is not worth it.
I'll quit my whining now. I'm really not feeling sorry for myself. I just kind of thought this topic would be of more interest to people.
Thanks for listening.
Oh, and guess what?! I've come into the 21st century and finally have a computer. We're getting our internet hooked up this evening. I can now post from home. Yay for me.
Where I Was Then...Part 2
Part 1 can be read here.
As the summer continued, and the days got closer to packing up and moving hundreds of miles away from the only home I had every known, fear began to set in. At the time, I didn't realize that it was fear. I continued to maintain the illusion of excitement over "flying the coop". Over the course of the summer, I had gone from weighing about 125 lbs (a very healthy weight for someone who is 5 feet 5 inches tall) to weighing around 100 lbs by the end of the summer. My diet consisted of salads with a single tablespoon of fat free Italian dressing (which counted as 5 optional calories) and baby carrots for snack. I would frequent the grocery store almost every day to get a 2 lb bag of baby carrots and munch on those when the need to eat something hit me. After leaving the grocery store, I would go through the Drive-Thru at McDonalds and buy a large Diet Coke. It was the middle of the summer, yet I was cold all of the time. I can specifically remember one instance when I was going to the grocery store where I felt like I was in a daze; I was dressed in very baggy jeans (that two months ago had been too tight) and a sweatshirt and I still felt cold.
My friendships began to suffer. I no longer communicated with any of my friends from high school. Something within me had lost the ability to enjoy life and just be. Every day activities made me nervous and stressed out. I was most comfortable sitting at home watching TV and the clock counting down the hours until the next meal time arrived. Would it be something I could tolerate? Would the meal "calculate" within what I was still allotted for the day? I filled myself up on diet soda because it made me feel "full" yet it wasn't giving me any dreaded calories or fat.
Finally, the time came to pack up and leave for college. I remember one Sunday morning sitting in church with my mom and a feeling of great anxiety and depression overcame me. I wrote my mom a note that said something like, "I have been excited for college for so long. I feel like I should be excited, but I just feel depressed." I couldn't grasp why I was feeling this way. I wanted to be excited so badly. But all I felt was sa black cloud hanging over my head.
The day arrived to leave for school. The drive was about 12 hours. I don't remember much about the drive out there, except for the fact that when you're on the road, there aren't many options for eating except stopping at fast-food restaurants. Suffice it to say, at this point, fast food was not an option for me. Unless I wanted a salad. But the only type of "safe salads" you can get a fast food restaurant are side salads, and even then, they didn't have the right type of dressing.
When I arrived at school, orientation involved all sorts of "getting to know you" activities. I got right in there and put myself out there and made some friends right away. I was bound and determined to make this work for me. My roommate situation wasn't ideal. I spent most of my time I had made with girls from other floors. I got right in there, and did my best to be brave when my parents left me and headed back home.
The cafeteria at school was not fun for me. I stuck to half sandwiches with tiny amounts of meat, or cereal. I wasn't able to use my scales to see how much meat I was eating, or see the calorie count on the bread I was consuming. So rather than risk that I was eating more than I should, I quit going to the cafeteria.
Within about two weeks of arriving at college, I got very ill. I had no energy and I couldn't concentrate. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. My grandmother, who lived just a few blocks from campus took me to the doctor, and after some blood tests it was determined that I had mono. Arrangements were made for my parents to come back and pick me up and take me home immediately. I was torn. I desperately wanted to go home where I felt safe and secure again, but at the same time, I felt like a failure for not being able to do what all of the other 18 year olds were doing; succeeding and having fun at college. I so badly wanted to stay and feel "normal" again. But I had to go home.
My dad came and picked me up. The day I left school was bittersweet. Even if I did get to come back later, would it be the same? Everyone else will have already made friends. I would be behind. Could I come back recovered and still have the great college experience I so longed for?
The remainder of the semester, I spent most of the time laying on the couch at my parent's house. They began the task of nursing me back to health. They got in touch with a well-known nutritionist in our area and I began seeing her once or twice a week. My mom asked me to trust her and let her prepare things for me to eat and trust that she wouldn't give me anything that made me fat. I told her that I would try, but when the first morning I was home she gave me an English muffin with peanut butter and honey on it, I panicked. That was two breads, two proteins, two fats and my entire allottment of optional calories for the day. That one little breakfast contained everything I allowed myself for the day at that point. How was I going to do this?!
It was difficult being back home for me; not only because of the failure I felt I was, but because it was blatantly obvious that my brother was not thrilled at the prospect. He was a junior in high school and I'm fairly confident was happy to be the only child for awhile. Not to mention that my parents were investing so much of their time and effort on me. I sometimes have blamed myself for the path he went down due to my illness.
As fall and winter came, I began to regain some health. My nutritionist told me that if I was able to gain to 110 lbs by the end of the semester, she would feel comfortable allowing me to go back to school second semester. I actually even got a part time job at TCBY after I had recovered from mono. It was in my plans to go back in January. And I did. But there was more difficulty to come....
Part 3 Tomorrow
As the summer continued, and the days got closer to packing up and moving hundreds of miles away from the only home I had every known, fear began to set in. At the time, I didn't realize that it was fear. I continued to maintain the illusion of excitement over "flying the coop". Over the course of the summer, I had gone from weighing about 125 lbs (a very healthy weight for someone who is 5 feet 5 inches tall) to weighing around 100 lbs by the end of the summer. My diet consisted of salads with a single tablespoon of fat free Italian dressing (which counted as 5 optional calories) and baby carrots for snack. I would frequent the grocery store almost every day to get a 2 lb bag of baby carrots and munch on those when the need to eat something hit me. After leaving the grocery store, I would go through the Drive-Thru at McDonalds and buy a large Diet Coke. It was the middle of the summer, yet I was cold all of the time. I can specifically remember one instance when I was going to the grocery store where I felt like I was in a daze; I was dressed in very baggy jeans (that two months ago had been too tight) and a sweatshirt and I still felt cold.
My friendships began to suffer. I no longer communicated with any of my friends from high school. Something within me had lost the ability to enjoy life and just be. Every day activities made me nervous and stressed out. I was most comfortable sitting at home watching TV and the clock counting down the hours until the next meal time arrived. Would it be something I could tolerate? Would the meal "calculate" within what I was still allotted for the day? I filled myself up on diet soda because it made me feel "full" yet it wasn't giving me any dreaded calories or fat.
Finally, the time came to pack up and leave for college. I remember one Sunday morning sitting in church with my mom and a feeling of great anxiety and depression overcame me. I wrote my mom a note that said something like, "I have been excited for college for so long. I feel like I should be excited, but I just feel depressed." I couldn't grasp why I was feeling this way. I wanted to be excited so badly. But all I felt was sa black cloud hanging over my head.
The day arrived to leave for school. The drive was about 12 hours. I don't remember much about the drive out there, except for the fact that when you're on the road, there aren't many options for eating except stopping at fast-food restaurants. Suffice it to say, at this point, fast food was not an option for me. Unless I wanted a salad. But the only type of "safe salads" you can get a fast food restaurant are side salads, and even then, they didn't have the right type of dressing.
When I arrived at school, orientation involved all sorts of "getting to know you" activities. I got right in there and put myself out there and made some friends right away. I was bound and determined to make this work for me. My roommate situation wasn't ideal. I spent most of my time I had made with girls from other floors. I got right in there, and did my best to be brave when my parents left me and headed back home.
The cafeteria at school was not fun for me. I stuck to half sandwiches with tiny amounts of meat, or cereal. I wasn't able to use my scales to see how much meat I was eating, or see the calorie count on the bread I was consuming. So rather than risk that I was eating more than I should, I quit going to the cafeteria.
Within about two weeks of arriving at college, I got very ill. I had no energy and I couldn't concentrate. I felt like I was in the twilight zone. My grandmother, who lived just a few blocks from campus took me to the doctor, and after some blood tests it was determined that I had mono. Arrangements were made for my parents to come back and pick me up and take me home immediately. I was torn. I desperately wanted to go home where I felt safe and secure again, but at the same time, I felt like a failure for not being able to do what all of the other 18 year olds were doing; succeeding and having fun at college. I so badly wanted to stay and feel "normal" again. But I had to go home.
My dad came and picked me up. The day I left school was bittersweet. Even if I did get to come back later, would it be the same? Everyone else will have already made friends. I would be behind. Could I come back recovered and still have the great college experience I so longed for?
The remainder of the semester, I spent most of the time laying on the couch at my parent's house. They began the task of nursing me back to health. They got in touch with a well-known nutritionist in our area and I began seeing her once or twice a week. My mom asked me to trust her and let her prepare things for me to eat and trust that she wouldn't give me anything that made me fat. I told her that I would try, but when the first morning I was home she gave me an English muffin with peanut butter and honey on it, I panicked. That was two breads, two proteins, two fats and my entire allottment of optional calories for the day. That one little breakfast contained everything I allowed myself for the day at that point. How was I going to do this?!
It was difficult being back home for me; not only because of the failure I felt I was, but because it was blatantly obvious that my brother was not thrilled at the prospect. He was a junior in high school and I'm fairly confident was happy to be the only child for awhile. Not to mention that my parents were investing so much of their time and effort on me. I sometimes have blamed myself for the path he went down due to my illness.
As fall and winter came, I began to regain some health. My nutritionist told me that if I was able to gain to 110 lbs by the end of the semester, she would feel comfortable allowing me to go back to school second semester. I actually even got a part time job at TCBY after I had recovered from mono. It was in my plans to go back in January. And I did. But there was more difficulty to come....
Part 3 Tomorrow
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