I was surrounded by grey; out from under the grey,
rainy sky into the big house with grey walls and grey upholstered couches, but
from my place in the doorway, I could see of pair of wild eyes scrutinizing me
from under a mess of black hair. The environment was cold and unfamiliar, polished
to a high sheen like a hotel lobby, and with the aroma of hours old lunch
leftovers, my already immediate fear and loneliness was exacerbated. My parents
had driven an hour and fifteen minutes away from home to the Center for
Discovery, a 24 hour residential eating disorder care facility in Edmonds,
Washington, and it was to be my home for the next nine weeks. The program
coordinator, a woman who was slightly stiff and very official ushered us all
into the entrance of the hollow, unwelcoming foyer. While my parents spent the
next few hours filling out paperwork, I looked listlessly over the rulebook for
the Center in the red folder that I was given. The first friendly glance that
met my eyes was an inordinately cheerful clip-art smiley face on the inside
cover of the folder. In the weeks to come that smiley-face in the red folder
became the object towards which I directed screams from the whole spectrum of
human emotion while battling the fiercest demon I have ever faced with body,
mind, and soul.
In
the car ride on the way to the Center, the questions that replayed in my head
like bad song lyrics was a depressing loop of “how did this happen?”, “so has
it really come to this?” During the past year, the amount of changes and
traumas that our family faced seemed to come in rapid succession and with
unrelenting abruptness. My dad had been diagnosed with prostate cancer in the
summer of 2012, the following month I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and
depression, and my younger brother and mom were left to pick up the pieces as
our monthly calendars started to fill up with visits to the oncologist,
nutritionist, therapist, psychiatrist, and a myriad of other “ist’s.” However,
I never got answers to my questions, just dreams.
The most inspirational, jarring, but mentally scarring was set in a sea. I was submerged
underwater looking up at a sun-lit surface, my breath running out, and grasping
at a glass-like covering separating water from air. I was fighting to break the
glass, pounding on it with my fists, watching the cracks slowly increase,
feeling my lungs tighten. It took all my strength of will and physicality to
push one last time, and as I thrust my fist up violently, I broke the surface,
and gasped for relief.
As I breathed in and
out, on a rainy grey Sunday just a mere week ago, I recalled that dream, but
instead of feeling my strength failing as I drowned, I felt at peace and
listened to the rain on the roof like a thousand tiny tap dancers.
I’ve been home for five
months now from the center, a place where I discovered my ability to be
unyielding to pervasive struggles and powerful addictions. It was a practice in
being emotionally, mentally, and physically resilient, not only for my sake,
but for the sake of my family. In all the changes and unpredictability, never
before had I needed to assimilate and learn so quickly, and adapting to
environments became part of my new, transformed nature. I also learned to use
my passions to promote healing, both for myself, and for those I love.
A friend once said that
I am a daughter of grace, not a product of my problems, and the transforming processes of the last two years have taught me to thrive in my rejuvenated self,
and I’m anxious for the promise of adventure in a future that’s free.
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