Its starts on 5 AM
on March 6th, 2015. It is cold outside, and dark, however, the
weather is much improved from the -20 and -30 degree Celsius temperatures I
have been faced with. It feels like just another ordinary day. For the past 6
months, I’ve been waking up at 5:30 am, going to work downtown at Sick Kids (I
was a barista) and coming home at around 7:30 pm. Life seemed to be going on
autopilot. I am a 20-year-old woman, and life right now, though not perfect, is
liveable.
I love my job as
a barista. I had been trying for two years to get into Starbucks. It was my
dream job. When I got the call a few days before my birthday for an interview,
I was so excited. As soon as I started working there I knew how much I loved
talking to people and interacting with them; suggesting drink and food
combinations, pairing a cookie with a latte. Ever since I was a little girl, I
have always enjoyed preparing food and drinks for people. This job allowed me
to live my little girl dreams of working in a café type setting. Serving people
and making someone’s day with a cup of coffee and a smile is what made life
worth it.
For the past two
years, I have been working extremely hard to establish a life for myself. I
volunteer at my local parish church. We do coffee Sunday, which is a ministry
that serves coffee and cookies after masses. It was only recently that my
family undertook this responsibility. It has been one of the few things that we
can do together.
Let me explain.
Most families go out to parties together. They grab a pizza when times get too
hectic and mum’s not able to make dinner. Or families gather in fancy
restaurants for special graduation, anniversary and birthday dinners. My family
is different. In my family, anything related to eating or food is a taboo
subject. It is not because we have a deathly allergy in the family certain
foods or some rigid kosher or halal beliefs. Its not because we don’t enjoy
doing these things together.
It’s because of
me.I have an eating disorder. I am an anorexic;
the restrictive subtype, which means that I severely restrict my food intake in
an attempt to maintain my ideal body. The part that is so dangerous and risky
and addictive about my illness is that it becomes like a game. When I lost the
first 5 lbs. and people started noticing, initially, it felt amazing. “Wow! I
look great I thought!” Then there came a time where I figured… “hmm.. losing 5 lbs.
was met with such positive feedback, how about if I lost another 10?” And soon
before I knew it, it became a game of “how low can it go?” Long story short,
here I am 2 years later, in Credit Valley Hospital in Mississauga Ontario
finally seeking help for an eating disorder that I am ready to let go off.
I told my parents
that I was heading to work a bit earlier last Friday. I left the house at
around 5 am, got the ttc to finch station and then took the go bus to Credit
Valley Hospital. I walked into emerge, equipped with a note that my family
doctor had provided me. In this note, it stated that I was an anorexic and it
listed all the side effects I was experiencing such as hypothermia, an abnormal
heart rate, imbalanced electrolytes etc. Within two hours. I was admitted into
the hospital. I called my mum as soon as I heard this and then waited for her
to arrive. I spent the weekend in the hospital, moving from ward to ward until
I could find a spot to make my own. On Monday morning, I was moved to 3b, the
cardiac floor, and was certified under Dr. Staab. It has stated that if I try
to leave the hospital before March 22, 2015, I will be brought back by security
and handcuffed to my bed.
I was initially
extremely upset over this. What felt like was under my complete and total
control suddenly went way over my head and stopped being about what I wanted.
However, I knew that this is something like jumping into a pool or ripping a band-aid
off…you can do it slowly and painfully, or you can do it quickly, all at once
and get it over with. Either way, its going to hurt, but both ways will get you
the same results. Tuesday morning was the day the feeding tube went it. I am
not going to lie or be brave and pretend that it did not hurt or feel
unpleasant. It was not a good feeling at all. However, to get through this, I
knew that this is what I needed to do for me. This is what I have to do to make
sure that I am able to build a better life for myself.
This is a picture of me, in my hospital bed, on my first day.
I'm not going to mention my weight or any numbers in this post, or in any future ones. I know how triggering that could be to someone so I'm not going to do it. However, I must emphasize that it is not pleasant to be such a low weight. And you don't want to put your body through that much hell.
Having said that, I understand if you're reading this and are still not convinced that being anorexic is not fun. I was like that too. Getting this sick was a way of liberating myself. Finally being able to start from the very beginning and from the very bottom. That is the best place to start really. I needed this huge amount of suffering to realize that life is worth living.
