Saturday, February 18, 2012

Anorexia





The ones who have read my blog from the beginning know that I struggled with the disease of Anorexia. I know my blog posts have been more serious than usual but I have been getting some very heart breaking things brought to me that I feel I need to share. I have decided that today's blog post will souly be about anorexia. Yes I admit it I am still anorexic. Yes I admit that I am still living off of Coke zero, and gum. But I also admit that I need to stop. I am like this because I feel being then is beautiful. I know everyone says that what I am doing to myself is purely my own fault. I don't want to sound like a child but I also think that others are also at fault. I am continuously hearing how being thin is beautiful and that if your not well your not. If you are anorexic too then I want you right now to think about what you are doing. I want you to think about how this is affecting you. Now look at these pictures of girls with anorexia, and story of a girl who knew she was going to die of the disease. Note: This whole week will be about this type of stuff like cutting, bulimia, anorexia, etc.








"Anorexia became my death"


This is not a story about heartbroken love, friendship, politics or music. This is about facing death. This is my story, my life, and my death.


I've read very many of those horror stories about what anorexia can do to you, I’ve seen all the pictures of the walking skeletons, and I’ve always thought that that would never happen to me. And now it’s me who write the horror-story. I don’t know why, but I hope that my story will help, then I won’t have lived my life in vain.


My childhood was fairly normal. My mom and dad had just got married, when they had me. My mom was 19 and my dad 21. I was born on the 14. of February, 1989, in New York, USA, and was given the name Calanthia Valentina. My mom dropped out of college to take care of me, while my dad continued school. My mom got pregnant not long after I was born, and it didn’t work out to good for my parents. My mom was tired of staying home with me, while my father went to school and hung out with his friends. My little sister, Acacia January, was born on January the 1., 1990, and was my best friend from the day she was born! My dad graduated in the summer of 1990 with a law degree, and we moved from New York to California, where both of my parents found a job. In August 1., 1991, my parents couldn't stand the sight of each other any longer, and decided to get a divorce. Me and my sister moved with my mother, and stayed at my fathers house every second weekend. 

We lived with a tight budget until I was 7. But in 1991 my dad got a job as a lawyer in a big law firm, and it helped big time on our economics. But we had never needed anything, because our grandparents adored me and my sister, and we got everything we pointed at. And that was also why we were able to go to ballet, which we started at the age of 3 and 4. We were very good, and our instructors were sure, that one day we would be famous. But going to ballet wasn’t exactly a dance on roses, especially not when you’re good at it, and the instructor is pushing you.

My little sister stopped when she was 7, because she wouldn’t spend her time on practicing, rather then play. But I kept dancing. I wanted to be famous, so that my family could be proud of me. So I practiced 3-4 times a week from when I was 8 years old.

In 1998, when I was 9 years old, my instructors told me, that if I wanted to be put on a better team, I had to loose 3 kilos. I’ll just let you know that I was 140 cm. tall and weighed 30 kilos, which is very ordinary for a 9year-old. But of course I wanted to be put on a better team, I wanted to be famous, so I started to loose weight. I started with cutting out candy and sweet of my diet-plan, but after three days I still hadn’t lost weight. So I decided to skip breakfast. Everyone was always very busy at home in the morning, so my mother hardly noticed that I didn’t eat breakfast, and if she did, I just grabbed a piece of fruit and said that I would eat it on my way to school, but usually I threw it in the first trashcan at the school. My weight still didn’t change much, so I decided to cut down on the size of the portions I ate, and exercise after the meals. After that I rapidly started loosing weight, and finally I weighed the 27 kilo that I had to, to get on a better team. And I was happy.

When the 3 kilos were gone I thought, that it wouldn’t hurt If I lost another 2 kilos, then I would be lighter and become better then everybody else. So I continued with eating less and less and exercising more and more. I was always hungry, but the hunger sort of made me “high” and that was some of the most incredible I had every experienced. My mom and dad became worried that I kept loosing weight, that I was always tired, and almost always dizzy. It wasn’t normal for someone of my age, and when they asked me about it, I just said that I didn’t know why. So my mom took me to a doctor to find out what was wrong. I went through a lot of tests, but they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. So my doctor sent me to a dietist, so that she could plan a diet-plan, so that I could gain some weight. I was very much against everything she suggested, but was scared to say anything, so I just sad there and nodded.

For supper we had something from my new diet-plan. When it was time to eat I just sat and stared at my plate, while thoughts flew around in my head. My mom kept telling me to eat, but I said that I wasn’t hungry. We sat there and discussed for half an hour, before I finally took a bite. And every single bite I took, my mom almost had to force in to my mouth. 2 hours later she was tired of discussing with me, and I had eaten half of the food on my plate, so she decided that it was enough. For a whole week every single meal was like that. I refused to eat, and she sat there and threatened me with things, if I didn’t. She always ended up winning and I ate the food.

I agreed with myself, that I wasn’t worth it to discuss with my mother over every single meal, and I began eating normal again. Every time I had one of my food orgies I felt so bad about myself that I had to do something to hurt me. In the beginning it was just some things like beating my head or my fist against the walls, but then I began to sit and scratch myself until I began to bleed, and I ended up cutting or burning myself.

I hated that I couldn’t control myself, and I hated not to have control over the things. And I started to gain a lot of weight. The ballet was fucked up, and my instructors said that I had to loose weight if I wanted to continue. So one day when I read in one of mom’s model-magazines about a girl with bulimia, I became so happy, that I couldn’t describe it. Why hadn’t I thought that myself? Every time I ate too much, I could just go out and throw it all up again.

But I didn’t loose weight, because I still ate normally, and I only threw up when I had one of my food orgies. So I decided that I could just throw up after every meal. Even though I began to loose weight again, I still wasn’t happy. I was frustrated that I couldn’t control myself, and just stop to eat. That was what I wanted. I wanted the feeling back. The felling that made me “high”.

But it wasn’t as easy as the first time, and it took about half a year to go back to my old habits. I ate almost nothing, and everything I eat came up again. I exercised like a crazy person. My instructors were very satisfied with my achievement and always gave me good compliments. My family, on the other hand, was worried. I was 11 years old, 148 cm. tall and weighed 24 kilos. I was under weighed.

I came to the doctor again. This time another one and he diagnosed anorexia. He thought that I without further problems could be cured with therapy, and that I didn’t had to be hospitalized/inlaid or drop the ballet. A few days later I started in therapy with a psychologist, who never before had had a patient with eating disorder.

The therapy didn’t help much. I kept loosing weight and got worse and worse. When I in June 2000 passed out while I was doing ballet, I got hospitalized with a weight of 18 kilos. The hospital that I was in didn’t have any special department for eating disorder, so I was put on the kids’ psychiatric department.

I refused to eat the food that was served, and after to days they showed a tube down my throat, so that they could feed me. But as soon the nurses and doctors were gone, pulled out the tube. It was enormously painful, but in my eyes far better then getting fat. After doing that tricks a couple a times I ended up having a nurse watching me 24/7. I wasn’t allowed to do anything. If I had to go somewhere it was in a wheelchair, so I didn’t burn calories. If I had to go to the bathroom it was with a nurse in the same room. It was a living hell!

After being in the hospital for 4 weeks, I was ready to give up. Every waken minute I thought of how to get out of there. The only way out was to gain weight. So I got to the conclusion, that I could just eat and gain the weight that they wanted me to, and when I got out I could just loose it all again. It was as easy as I had thought. It was a tough fight for me at every meal, but slowly I began to gain weight again.

4 months later I got discharged with a weight of 30 kilos. My mother had decided that we were going to move, because she was afraid that, if I got home to everything I knew I would just get worse again. So we went to Denmark, where my mother is from. My little sister didn’t want to come with us. She said it was unfair that she had to move away from all her friends and everything she knew. After all, it was me who was sick. So she stayed with my father.

I September 2000 my mother and I moved in to a little apartment on Nørrebro, which my mother’s parents had gotten us. I started in 7 grade. I knew perfectly well that my mom only did what she thought was best for me, but moving to a new country where I didn’t know anybody, and didn’t even speak the language, wasn’t what I needed. I got back to my old food-habits pretty quickly, but this time I was better at hiding it. My mom was very busy with her new work and soon had a boyfriend, which she also spent a lot of time with. So she left me alone, and didn’t notice my food-habits. She thought I was well.
I learned Danish pretty quickly, and did quite well in school. But I didn't really get any friends. People were nice and always tried to get me to parties, and in to town, but I didn't have time for friends, the only thing I cared for was my eating disorder. It took all of my time, and food was everything I thought about.

In spring 2001 I got hospitalized again, this time on a special department for eating disorder. They were trained to help us, and weren't as easy to trick. After 3 months I gave up, and started to eat and gain weight. And after 8 months I got discharged. I had actually gotten better. I still had a lot of thoughts about food and my weight, but I ate properly and my weight stayed on 38 kilos. I began to get some friends, maybe not the best of a kind. They were kind of fucked up, just like myself. They drank much and some of them also did drugs. I also began to drink a lot, but kept me away from the drugs.

In May 2002 I visited my father for a couple of weeks. And there the biggest tragedy of all happened. My beloved little sister committed suicide, only 12 years old. My entire world fell apart and it hurt so badly inside of me. I started to cut myself again, but it wasn’t enough to make the pain go away. I began to do drugs. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted nothing. I preferred cocaine. In the beginning it was only in the weekends, but soon it was every day. I couldn’t make it through a day without my coke. One of the lovely side effects was that I wasn’t hungry and didn’t wanted food. Again I rapidly started loosing weight. I didn’t really notice it. The only thing that mattered now was the coke. My mother was in huge pain over my sister, and didn’t have the strength for anyone but her self, so she didn’t notice anything. First after I ended up on the hospital, after taking an overdose of heroin, my mom saw the problem and got me committed in rehab. I got rehabbed, but I couldn’t bear all the sorrow, so I once again returned to what I knew, anorexia. And then I was back in the evil circle.

From when I was 13 to 16 I was hospitalized another 5 times because of my anorexia. I always was somewhere between 30 and 55 kilos in the 3 years. Most of the time closer to 30 than to 55. And every time I got discharged I returned to my old habits. Some days I really wanted to get well, but the unknown scared me. It was hard to break the pattern. I hated to have food inside of me. Just the thought of it could make me freak out!

My mother and I had a fight constantly. The only thing we talked about was food, and it always ended up in a huge fight. So when I in the summer 2005 was on a visit at my dads, we decided that it would be best if I moved in with him.

I was really determined that now I would get well. I wanted my life back. So I got hospitalized with my own free will, on a treatment-clinic for eating disorders. I the beginning it was hard, but I was willing to fight for it. I got depressed and started taking anti-depression medicine. Once again I gave up. I was tired of fighting against my thoughts. I was tired of everything. So I got kicked out from the treatment-center, cause on of the rules was that, you had to want to be there yourself, and be willing to get well. That rule I didn’t follow any longer.

A bit over a month later I again got hospitalized, because I kept fainting. I went through a lot of tests, to see how my health was. 3 days later I had a meeting with the doctor in charge and my father. He said: “Callie, there isn’t any easy way to say this, so I’ll say it straight out. Your body is very destroyed, your organs do not longer work as they should, and you have bones like an 80 year old, and soon your heart won’t be able to take anymore. You’ll have max. 3 months left to live.”

My father started to cry. I couldn’t understand what the doctor had just said to me. It couldn’t be true. I’m only 16; I’m not going to die! But he told me the truth; my body was about to give up after many years of malnutrition.

Now I sit here, a bit over a month later, writing my story. I’m 16 years old, and in 2 months I’m probably dead. It took some time for me to understand that I’m about to die, but I’ve gotten used to the thought now, and I’m ending the things that need to be ended. I’m about to plan my burial. Deciding whether I’d like to be burned or buried in a chest.

I’m saying goodbye to my friends and family. And I’m writing my story. This is the short version, with many missed out details, but it’s a short explanation about how I’m ended up as I am. How a simple diet can go wrong. How this sickness, anorexia, can ruin your life, and even end it. This is not a fictional story. I’d wish it was, but it isn’t.

If I said I wasn’t afraid, I would lie. I am afraid, very much afraid. I’m afraid not to wake up one morning, I’m afraid of what will happen when I’m dead. Is there such a thing as heaven or hell? Or is it just nothing? There is no one who can answer all my questions, I just have to wait and see what happens.

My fear for death is being overshadowed by how mean I’ve been to my family and friends. It is them that have to live with my dead, not me. I hate myself for all the pain that I’ve caused them, and all the pain that I’ll cause them with my death. I would give EVERYTHING to be able to go back in time and change my life. But I can’t! The only thing I can do is to write my story and hope that it affects someone, so they won’t end up like me. I know that it most probably won’t, but I’ll hope that it does. If my story can help just one, then it’s been worth it!

I’ve always known which consequences anorexia has, but I’ve never thought that it would happen for me. Now it did. I’m 16 year old, 168 cm. tall and weigh 32 kilos. I took up the battle against anorexia, and I lost??


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                                                   xoxo
                                                                    Love
                                                                                                   Rosalie                 

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