Yesterday, I spoke with a young friend< Catie, who is working diligently on her anorexia and bulimia. She spent three weeks at an inpatient facility and is completing outpatient this week. Catie surely would have benefited from more inpatient time, but that's all insurance would cover.
Catie struggles daily with eating and weight gain. She misses the ability to restrict her food and control her weight, but she's trying.
At 26 – she never finished college and works a part time job. When she is done with outpatient treatment, she's going to go back to her job, go to 12 Step meetings and find a therapist.
But that's a pretty small life. The last ten years have been devoted to her eating disorder, in one form or other.
Catie reminds me of how I used to be. I lived in the bubble of my eating disorder for decades. I didn't finish college until many years later; didn't develop a meaningful career or loving relationships. My life revolved around counting my calories.
Back then, I said, and meant it, that I was my eating disorder. That was it. It defined me.
What a waste. In coming posts – getting out from under.