- Apr 26, 2020
- 315
- 296
- 41
- Country
- United States
- Faith
- Non-Denom
- Marital Status
- Single
Anyone who has never had an eating disorder won't be able to appreciate how strong an addiction it is and how difficult it is to overcome completely.
Unlike alcohol, cigarettes or drugs, food is something we need to survive and have to face at least once a day.
(Imagine being an alcoholic or a heroin addict trying to overcome that addiction while having to take a drink or shoot up three times a day.)
I developed orthorexia (an obsession with correct eating) and bulimarexia (a combination of anorexia and bulimia) when I went away to art school at age 18. The competitive pressure of school combined with unresolved emotional issues stemming from my family life, and perfectionistic tendencies (which all of my siblings also suffer from to varying degrees), led me to begin exercising as a way to relieve my anxiety and give myself a sense of mastery and control in my life.
In a way, controlling the weight and shape of my body was like working on an ongoing art project---my body the material and exercise and diet the tools to sculpt it to my liking. I had complete control over that project, and that feeling of control over myself was exhilarating after leaving a home where I had had very little.
Initially, the goal was optimal health (as I conceived it). I loved reading magazines like Shape and Health and trying to tailor my diet and my body to what I saw there.
But the pursuit of perfection quickly got out of hand and mutated into something self-destructive---because self-destruction and self-loathing were in me, and I hadn't escaped those demons by leaving home. Those feelings and desires took over my exercise and diet regimen and turned them into a kind of self-flagellation. I didn't merely want to be healthy, I wanted to dominate and punish myself and to disappear. The anger I had toward my parents, the feelings of being unloved and unacceptable, and the emotional pain of my childhood and adolescence, were turned on my body in full force.
I became orthorexic and bulimic, obsessing over what I ate and purging whatever I felt was too much or somehow impure or imperfect. I binged and purged for comfort and became spiritually addicted to it such that I couldn't stop myself.
I binged and purged constantly, but hardly ate anything.
I exercised obsessively, reveling in the looks my skinny body received from the other people in the gym. The thinner I got, the happier I was.
My roommates knew I had a problem. Everyone knew. But I was too engrossed in my addiction to care. I thought to myself that they were just jealous because they weren't as thin and healthy as I was.
By the time I came home from school that first year, I was physically wasted and living a nightmare of addiction whose grip I was powerless to break.
Out of concern for my health, my parents forced me to go to an eating disorder program at a hospital, which I hated and which did me no good. My addiction was too strong for medication and therapy.
The therapists told me I was worthy of kindness and love just because of my "innate worth", which I thought was rubbish. I knew that I wasn't a good person, that I had done a lot of bad things to people, for which I beat myself up, and I didn't buy into their "hippie" self-love talk. I was too logical for that.
As soon as I got out of the program, I went right back to the behaviors.
Forbidden by my parents to return to school, I spent the next three years cycling in and out of myriad e.d. treatment programs around the country, from renowned hospitals to expensive retreats---to no avail.
In despair, I attempted suicide twice (nearly succeeding the first time) before ultimately fleeing to New Mexico to live as I pleased and die of the disorder. I didn't care what happened to me. I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life in hospitals for something that medication and therapy couldn't cure, or to hurt anyone else with my addict behaviors.
It was while I was living in New Mexico, in a supportive living apartment complex for people with mental illness, that I came across the website of a Christian brother which had articles on various doctrinal topics.
I considered myself a Christian, even though I was not practicing. I had prayed the "sinner's prayer" countless times from my youth, and been assured by my parents that I was saved. But I was still afraid to die and afraid of hell, which I knew I deserved. I still had the full weight of the guilt of my sins upon me, and it was consuming me from the inside out through self harm and self loathing.
Through correspondence with this brother, I heard a gospel message that I had not heard before, one that required repentance from sin, not merely an acknowledgement of being a sinner (which I knew very well that I was). This gospel scared me, quite honestly. I knew in my heart that that prayer I had prayed so many times wasn't protecting me from going to hell. I needed salvation---true salvation from God Himself---or I was going to hell.
In desperation, I ran from the computer and got on my knees on the floor of my room and pleaded with God for Him to "show me the truth, or else I would never know it".
And He answered, instantly.
That very moment, the Spirit of Jesus Christ came into my heart and I knew that God had saved me. My tears of desperation turned into tears of joy and all I could do was keep repeating, "Thank you" over and over again, with the biggest smile on my face.
Even more amazing is that at the same time that He saved me, God also healed me of my chronic anxiety and depression, and of my eating disorders. All them, gone, instantly, like a candle being snuffed out inside of me. I could feel in my spirit and in my mind that I was healed, just like the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years and who the doctors couldn't help knew she was healed when she touched the hem of Jesus' garment.
Even as an unsaved person, I had sensed that my eating disorder was a spiritual bond. It was more than physical and psychological; it was literally like being possessed with something that overpowered my mind and my body and made me feel like I was going to jump out of my skin or go insane if I didn't act on the behaviors. It was so bad that I once asked my mother, with all seriousness, to handcuff me to my bed so that I wouldn't act on the disorder. (She refused.)
God did in an instant what years of treatment had been powerless to.
I ran to the bathroom and flushed all of my medications down the toilet, knowing that I would never need them again. And I haven't to this day.
I couldn't keep from sharing what had happened to me with everyone, from my parents to my roommate to my former psychologist to the brother who led me to Christ. It was the happiest day of my life.
The Christians understood it. The unsaved people didn't.
People magazine, which had wanted to include me in a story it was doing on eating disorders, changed its mind after interviewing me and hearing my testimony of how Jesus had healed me. They probably thought I was a delusional religious nut. I didn't care. I knew what God had done and there was no other explanation.
The road to recovery from my eating disordered habits was gradual but steady. I had to learn how to eat normally again. The body obsession and food fear was gone but I still had to learn what normal was for me. Gradually my portion sizes increased and my food choices expanded as I became more and more comfortable with eating meals and as I learned my body's true caloric needs and to pay attention to its hunger and fullness cues.
For the first time in my life, my body had value to me---not as a piece of material to be fashioned or a machine to be dominated, but as a temple of the Holy Spirit of a God who loved me. I was able to care for it with that knowledge and took pride in doing so. I no longer felt the need or desire to punish myself or to disappear. My sins had been forgiven and I was a new creation in Christ. It was more than words; it was a reality.
Eating disorders are no more difficult for God to break than any other affliction or addiction. Very few people who struggle with this issue recover completely, and there are some who say that no one can ever fully recover, only change the behavior---that they're still an addict on the inside and always will be.
I can tell you that with God, complete healing is possible. I am not an addict in any degree on the inside. I have no desire to engage in eating disordered behavior ever again. When I see women who are struggling with an e.d. (and those who have had them can spot the signs), I feel no envy or temptation to be like them, only sympathy, and gratitude to God for delivering me from that tormented existence. It's a horrible illness to have.
Thankfully, so far as I'm aware, and against all odds, I don't have any permanent dental, bone or organ damage from what I did to my body during the time that I was sick.
I know that I am extremely blessed and that my story is rare. But I wanted to share it both to give glory to God and to give hope to anyone who may be suffering from an eating disorder or some other addiction and hasn't been able to overcome it by conventional means.
God is the great Physician; nothing is too difficult for Him. And when He heals, He heals completely.
May the Lord bless you.
Unlike alcohol, cigarettes or drugs, food is something we need to survive and have to face at least once a day.
(Imagine being an alcoholic or a heroin addict trying to overcome that addiction while having to take a drink or shoot up three times a day.)
I developed orthorexia (an obsession with correct eating) and bulimarexia (a combination of anorexia and bulimia) when I went away to art school at age 18. The competitive pressure of school combined with unresolved emotional issues stemming from my family life, and perfectionistic tendencies (which all of my siblings also suffer from to varying degrees), led me to begin exercising as a way to relieve my anxiety and give myself a sense of mastery and control in my life.
In a way, controlling the weight and shape of my body was like working on an ongoing art project---my body the material and exercise and diet the tools to sculpt it to my liking. I had complete control over that project, and that feeling of control over myself was exhilarating after leaving a home where I had had very little.
Initially, the goal was optimal health (as I conceived it). I loved reading magazines like Shape and Health and trying to tailor my diet and my body to what I saw there.
But the pursuit of perfection quickly got out of hand and mutated into something self-destructive---because self-destruction and self-loathing were in me, and I hadn't escaped those demons by leaving home. Those feelings and desires took over my exercise and diet regimen and turned them into a kind of self-flagellation. I didn't merely want to be healthy, I wanted to dominate and punish myself and to disappear. The anger I had toward my parents, the feelings of being unloved and unacceptable, and the emotional pain of my childhood and adolescence, were turned on my body in full force.
I became orthorexic and bulimic, obsessing over what I ate and purging whatever I felt was too much or somehow impure or imperfect. I binged and purged for comfort and became spiritually addicted to it such that I couldn't stop myself.
I binged and purged constantly, but hardly ate anything.
I exercised obsessively, reveling in the looks my skinny body received from the other people in the gym. The thinner I got, the happier I was.
My roommates knew I had a problem. Everyone knew. But I was too engrossed in my addiction to care. I thought to myself that they were just jealous because they weren't as thin and healthy as I was.
By the time I came home from school that first year, I was physically wasted and living a nightmare of addiction whose grip I was powerless to break.
Out of concern for my health, my parents forced me to go to an eating disorder program at a hospital, which I hated and which did me no good. My addiction was too strong for medication and therapy.
The therapists told me I was worthy of kindness and love just because of my "innate worth", which I thought was rubbish. I knew that I wasn't a good person, that I had done a lot of bad things to people, for which I beat myself up, and I didn't buy into their "hippie" self-love talk. I was too logical for that.
As soon as I got out of the program, I went right back to the behaviors.
Forbidden by my parents to return to school, I spent the next three years cycling in and out of myriad e.d. treatment programs around the country, from renowned hospitals to expensive retreats---to no avail.
In despair, I attempted suicide twice (nearly succeeding the first time) before ultimately fleeing to New Mexico to live as I pleased and die of the disorder. I didn't care what happened to me. I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life in hospitals for something that medication and therapy couldn't cure, or to hurt anyone else with my addict behaviors.
It was while I was living in New Mexico, in a supportive living apartment complex for people with mental illness, that I came across the website of a Christian brother which had articles on various doctrinal topics.
I considered myself a Christian, even though I was not practicing. I had prayed the "sinner's prayer" countless times from my youth, and been assured by my parents that I was saved. But I was still afraid to die and afraid of hell, which I knew I deserved. I still had the full weight of the guilt of my sins upon me, and it was consuming me from the inside out through self harm and self loathing.
Through correspondence with this brother, I heard a gospel message that I had not heard before, one that required repentance from sin, not merely an acknowledgement of being a sinner (which I knew very well that I was). This gospel scared me, quite honestly. I knew in my heart that that prayer I had prayed so many times wasn't protecting me from going to hell. I needed salvation---true salvation from God Himself---or I was going to hell.
In desperation, I ran from the computer and got on my knees on the floor of my room and pleaded with God for Him to "show me the truth, or else I would never know it".
And He answered, instantly.
That very moment, the Spirit of Jesus Christ came into my heart and I knew that God had saved me. My tears of desperation turned into tears of joy and all I could do was keep repeating, "Thank you" over and over again, with the biggest smile on my face.
Even more amazing is that at the same time that He saved me, God also healed me of my chronic anxiety and depression, and of my eating disorders. All them, gone, instantly, like a candle being snuffed out inside of me. I could feel in my spirit and in my mind that I was healed, just like the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years and who the doctors couldn't help knew she was healed when she touched the hem of Jesus' garment.
Even as an unsaved person, I had sensed that my eating disorder was a spiritual bond. It was more than physical and psychological; it was literally like being possessed with something that overpowered my mind and my body and made me feel like I was going to jump out of my skin or go insane if I didn't act on the behaviors. It was so bad that I once asked my mother, with all seriousness, to handcuff me to my bed so that I wouldn't act on the disorder. (She refused.)
God did in an instant what years of treatment had been powerless to.
I ran to the bathroom and flushed all of my medications down the toilet, knowing that I would never need them again. And I haven't to this day.
I couldn't keep from sharing what had happened to me with everyone, from my parents to my roommate to my former psychologist to the brother who led me to Christ. It was the happiest day of my life.
The Christians understood it. The unsaved people didn't.
People magazine, which had wanted to include me in a story it was doing on eating disorders, changed its mind after interviewing me and hearing my testimony of how Jesus had healed me. They probably thought I was a delusional religious nut. I didn't care. I knew what God had done and there was no other explanation.
The road to recovery from my eating disordered habits was gradual but steady. I had to learn how to eat normally again. The body obsession and food fear was gone but I still had to learn what normal was for me. Gradually my portion sizes increased and my food choices expanded as I became more and more comfortable with eating meals and as I learned my body's true caloric needs and to pay attention to its hunger and fullness cues.
For the first time in my life, my body had value to me---not as a piece of material to be fashioned or a machine to be dominated, but as a temple of the Holy Spirit of a God who loved me. I was able to care for it with that knowledge and took pride in doing so. I no longer felt the need or desire to punish myself or to disappear. My sins had been forgiven and I was a new creation in Christ. It was more than words; it was a reality.
Eating disorders are no more difficult for God to break than any other affliction or addiction. Very few people who struggle with this issue recover completely, and there are some who say that no one can ever fully recover, only change the behavior---that they're still an addict on the inside and always will be.
I can tell you that with God, complete healing is possible. I am not an addict in any degree on the inside. I have no desire to engage in eating disordered behavior ever again. When I see women who are struggling with an e.d. (and those who have had them can spot the signs), I feel no envy or temptation to be like them, only sympathy, and gratitude to God for delivering me from that tormented existence. It's a horrible illness to have.
Thankfully, so far as I'm aware, and against all odds, I don't have any permanent dental, bone or organ damage from what I did to my body during the time that I was sick.
I know that I am extremely blessed and that my story is rare. But I wanted to share it both to give glory to God and to give hope to anyone who may be suffering from an eating disorder or some other addiction and hasn't been able to overcome it by conventional means.
God is the great Physician; nothing is too difficult for Him. And when He heals, He heals completely.
May the Lord bless you.
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