Some More of God’s Greatest Mistakes

the first time i ever tried to lose weight i lost 100 pounds in one year.  i did it by heavily restricting my calories, and in other ways copying things i knew about anorexia (i won’t be more specific so as not to give anyone hints on how to do this).  i reached my goal and found i didn’t want to stop.  i lost more weight and eventually when i tried to stop i couldn’t.  my school work started suffering (i was in a masters program for social work) and my relationship with my girlfriend suffered (she eventually dumped me because i lied too many times about eating and weight stuff).  at what felt like the last minute, with pressure from school and everyone else in my life, i went into health monitoring and nutritional counseling and managed to begin eating again.  but fairly soon after that the binging began.  weight gain.  and eventually, relapse into restricting to control my weight.

the second time around things went farther and i had to be forced into an IP hospitalization by my school (the deal was, go into treatment and maybe you can come back).  i had a similar experience to the first time- it’s not that i didn’t come around and really genuinely try to recover, but i started binging.  and the third time was similar- this time i was forced by the transitional living program i was staying at, before my weight got particularly low, but i had to go into an IP hospitalization again because i couldn’t force myself to eat according to that program’s requirements (the deal was, go into the hospital or go out on the street).

so all 3 times i entered recovery it was under very intense pressure, especially the 2nd and 3rd times.  once i was actually in treatment i did really well, after a period of open resistance and rebellion i came to work hard and honestly do my best.  and the 3rd time i went from the hospital into the 12 step OA program which was the most successful by far of all the types of treatment i’ve tried.

the thing is…  i’m used to being forced and pressured.  i’m used to lying until i can’t lie anymore.  i’m used to an ultimatum.  “go into treatment or live on the streets” is an awfully effective way of getting things started.  the way things are now, there’s no threat.  and there isn’t going to be any threat until my parents think i’m dying.  i know, beause they have told me so.  and the question i have to ask myself is, well, do i really want to wait until i’m dying?  or maybe an even better question would be, well, do i really want to risk my life on the judgement of my clueless parents knowing when the time to intervene is?  especially since i do my best to avoid seeing them and lie to them constantly…

(i’m going to write more on this later, about what being forced means and what deciding on my own would mean and what it might take for me to do so).