I will start out this entry saying that I have had a hard
last couple of days. I saw my psychiatrist on Monday. The previous psychiatrist
I had been seeing diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder and therefore I took the
traditional drug Lithium. I have been on that for about 8 months now. This new
psychiatrist is not sure if I have Bipolar Disorder or Depression, so for the
moment she is saying “Episodic Mood Disorder”. I trust her opinion more because
she spends a substantial amount of time with me during our sessions and quite
frankly I think she is smarter than the other quack I was seeing. However, I am
coming off my lithium because it is affecting me. I found out I have hypothyroidism,
which was most likely caused by the damn lithium. I am very angry at my
situation because no wonder I have been gaining weight, I knew it was more than
psychological bull shit. My thyroid gland is fucked up. Coming off Lithium will
hopefully fix that, and in a few weeks I will start Lamictal which is a much
more modern, mood stabilizer with a hell of a lot less side effects. I am just
so embedded in depression I just pray that this helps.
Classes start in 6 days yay; yay? That will keep me very
busy for the most part. I am hoping my writing improves even more, and the more
people and I can touch in my writing the better. I got feedback from someone
saying that I do not brag in my writing, and I am very pleased that it doesn’t
come across that way. There is nothing nastier than people bragging about their
eating disorder. I do not brag about mine for several reasons, one of which is
I have no room to brag. I was never the “sickest” or what not. I am beginning
to think that I might need to find a job sometime within the near future as
well. If I ever want any sort of independence from my parents I need to work,
but my past work experiences were relentless and miserable. I just do not enjoy
working. It makes me anxious and paranoid. I don’t mind school though because I
leave the class after 2 hours, whereas working requires a strict schedule with
rules; and if you don’t follow it, you are fired! There isn’t a career /profession
I can think of doing without either doubting that I will make it through the
educational portion, or be capable of doing the function of the job. Hopefully
it will get better; maybe eventually I will imagine myself doing something very
enjoyable and passionate like every other functional person in society.
I am going to pick up the history of my story in the fall
of 2010. My dad had told us he was going to the beautiful country (ha-ha) of Afghanistan
for 13 months. I was very distraught at first, this was my Dad who was in his
late 50s, he isn’t supposed to be going over to a war zone, and in fact he
should be retiring! My mom, my sister, and I tried to convince him not to go
for a few days but that did nothing. On thanksgiving of that year we all went
around the table and said something we were thankful for. My dad said “I am
thankful that Marissa is doing better with her eating disorder”. I really remembered
that and I cross my heart and hoped to die I would be anorexic again. A few
days after thanksgiving, we all woke up really early to drive to the all too familiar
giant Naval Base where I had waved goodbye to my dad so many times in the past.
We all gave my dad a big hug and my dad got onto this huge bus with a bunch of
military guys that were young enough to have been his kids. My dad was the only
old guy going to Afghanistan! I thought whoever was sending him over there was a
fool! The bus drove off and there were the three musketeers, Marissa, Mom, and
Sister; just like the old days.
I bring this event up only because it was a major part of
my history that year, I am not linking it specifically to the relapse of my
anorexia. Anorexia did come though, and it came fast. Dad left in the fall, and
by January of my senior year I was dropping weight like an old familiar sport.
I was seeing a local psychiatrist who was nothing special at all. A 10-15
minute med check, and almost no knowledge of eating disorders with this women,
and this lady was supposed to be responsible for me wellbeing. My second
semester of my senior year I worked in the guidance office in first block,
second block was English, and third was humanities, and I got to go home early
after that. I had done remarkably well in my 1st semester classes; I
got an A in my Human Anatomy and Physiology Class. I didn’t even have to take
the final exam. I soon found out that high school and college Anatomy and
Physiology was very different though…
First block was so boring, and usually exhausting. I was
responsible for walking all around the school delivering notes, passes,
whatever they needed. I could tell I was beginning to become sick again because walking up to the
second floor of my high school became exhausting after so many times. When I
had nothing to do, I sat at the desk and read “An Un Quiet Mind”, by Dr. Kay
Jamison. They say when you are happy you read happy things and when you are
depressed you read depressing things, well this book was depressing because Dr.
Jamison went through severe Manic Depression in her early years. It was also a
happy book though because Dr. Jamison is now a Professor of Psychiatry at the
Johns Hopkins School of Medicine, and Associate Director of the Mood Disorders
Program at Johns Hopkins Hospital, it inspired me and gave hope. To this day I
wish I could do something with my experiences that would have profound effect
on others with similar issues. I don’t think I will ever go as far as being a
Professor of Psychiatry at a medical school, but one can dream…
From the period of December 2010-March 2011 that is when
I went through the most relapse (this time). I was not nearly as ill as I had been
previous years though. I ate lunch almost every day at school. Granted, it was
still “weird” or “not normal”, but I ate and I sure did lose weight. Lunch at
school would be skim milk and a banana. I was on a skim milk kick because I had
heard somewhere that calcium made you lose weight. I don’t really remember other
examples of lunches from that time. I was profoundly depressed though. It was a
different depression than what I am facing today. During my anorexic years I
was in a starvation induced depression, now I have major clinical depression or
a mood disorder. In my anorexic days my body and mind were slowing down. During
my relapse I could not believe this was happening again. I was nearly 18 years
old, struggled with an eating disorder/body image issues since age 12 and I was
falling right back down the rabbit hole. During these periods of months I was
very obsessive compulsive. I had to be doing small activities to constantly
pass the time when I was at home otherwise I would think about how hungry I
was. I played a really old Play Station 2 game for a few hours, then at a certain
time I had to watch “Judge Judy”. I have no earthly idea why this happened it
just became part of my ritual. Then at 6:30pm I would eat. It was such a fanatical
way of eating. I ate the weirdest things around this time; in fact I am not
even going to get into it. I was sick though. Very sick all over again.
Whenever I lost a certain amount of weight my mom noticed
and started to panic. That’s just the way things go around here. I have never
had that responsible Psychiatrist that worries about it and controls the
situation. My parents and I had to be the ones to take things into our own
hands. I saw this Psychiatrist I had been seeing, I told her I was cutting
myself, and losing weight. Eventually my mom came into a session and told the
Psychiatrist square up that I was sick and I need to go to the hospital and she
needed to refer me. Insurance is always the worst part of eating disorder
treatment. Many times insurance doesn’t want to pay for eating disorder
treatment, and most time if they do, they don’t cover enough or the right kind
of treatment. Just another example of a screwed up American Healthcare System,
but that’s off topic… My insurance had been through the ball park with me, they
knew I was a sick/troubled child. Within a few weeks it was approved for me to
return to Sheppard Pratt Hospital Center for Eating Disorders. This place was
like a historic al landmark in my life, and every time I went there more
history was made. Sheppard Pratt knew me well and I knew it. The admission in
the Pavilion was like all else, I said I would not cut myself while on the
unit. I was not as “sick” as I had been my last time, so as soon as I walked
into the pavilion and saw my admission weight I full heartedly asked if I was “sick
enough” to be inpatient. This is such a loaded question for whoever
professional has to answer it. Thankfully, the doctors and nurses at Sheppard
Pratt are experts and they know how to handle people like me. A solemn “yes”
was the nurse’s reply. Of course it was.
It had been almost 2 years since my last time in treatment;
I was expecting big changes on the unit. Alas, little to nothing had changed
other than a few new nurses and a few Postdoctoral Fellows. My first day was eerily
familiar. Stares from patients, the smell of the supplement stained air in the
dining hall, the dreadful bathroom where all patients use the bathroom praying to move their bowels, and where all
nurses use a key to flush the toilet to make sure that no purged in the toilet.
Ah yes, the comforts of the Sheppard Pratt were here still. Something was
different though, I was almost an adult. I was not the innocent, bug eyed, 13
year old I had been 4 years earlier. No, I was almost an adult and responsibility
and the “real world” was looking me square in the eyes. Better get your act together Marissa!!!! So henceforth
starts my 3rd admission at Sheppard Pratt and my 5 admission to a
psychiatric facility. As I was getting dressed in the “vanity” area later that
night I ran into a familiar staff member I knew from my last admission. Her
first words to me “Well Marissa, you don’t look that bad; hopefully you
don’t have too much weight too gain”. Slap,
Bang, What? Did she really just say that? I thought people who worked here
weren’t supposed to comment on our bodies. Goodnight.
“I am tired of hiding, tired of misspent and knotted
energies, tired of the hypocrisy, and tired of acting as though I have
something to hide.” ―Dr. Kay
Redfield Jamison, An Unquiet Mind: A Memoir of Moods and Madness
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