healing is not linear - A Memoir by Frances Edelstein

Chapter 4: Relapse

Trigger warnings: self-deprecation, negative body image, disordered eating/exercise habits, mention of death

I am not sure exactly when my mental health started going downhill again. To be completely honest with myself, I don't know if I ever went back to "normal" with my eating thoughts and habits. After the noodle came out, it was hard to reacclimate to eating a normal amount of food every day, and I would often break down after school when given the options for an after school snack. There were too many choices, and I didn't know which one was best (AKA the healthiest). Often the healthiest thing wasn't what I was craving, but I forced myself to eat the healthier option anyway. Eating was still a stressful thing for me.

I lost weight again, I joined the track team at school, which didn't last long because I was dramatically slower than everyone else. I assumed it was because I was too fat and unhealthy, but in fact, it was because I was underweight and I've never tried competitive running before. I asked my mom if I could still go on runs after school, and she turned me down a couple of times because she knew in her gut something was wrong. She saw me losing weight, eating less, and she was scared for my health.

I got easily exhausted at work, my feet cramping horribly by the end of the shift. When I was working, I'd fantasize about what I could eat for dinner, even though I would always have the healthier, more disappointing option that I did not fantasize about in my head. I still wanted to eat how I used to, but when it came to following through, it was just too hard. After work, I usually had breakfast for dinner, which used to be a full bagel and maybe eggs, but now it turned into half a bagel and a small handful of mixed nuts. After a long day of track and being on my feet at work, this was definitely not enough.

I shaved my head again, like I mentioned before. I looked so sick after that. I didn't notice until recently how fragile and sickly I looked. My cheekbones were jutting out, my shaved hair was thin, my face looked long, and as my friend I would later meet in college described, I looked like a grandma.

I cried a lot, even once in the middle of class. I was so sad and exhausted all the time, I would cry over the smallest things.

I started to get exhausted walking up the stairs at school, out of breath and close to fainting once I got to the top. Because of this, even after I was a healthy weight and going to therapy (which I will talk about later), I had panic attacks going up the stairs, afraid I wouldn't be able to make it to the top. The panic attacks led to dizziness and feeling faint, so that definitely didn't help me get over my fear any quicker.

I don't know why I suddenly felt this urge to tell my mom the thoughts that were going through my head, but I decided to a year after going in the hospital the first time, so I was now a sophomore. I remember after a stressful dinner, pondering how much I should eat and such, after my dad and brother left the room, I asked if I could talk to her for a second. My heart was pounding, I got a little lightheaded, and I tried to figure out what to tell. her. My mom is a very understanding and loving woman, and I know I can tell her literally anything, but for some reason, I was still scared. I remember telling her something along the lines of "I have this fear of getting fat and gaining weight when I eat. I don't know why, I know it's not logical, but I'm afraid of eating because I don't want to gain weight."

My mom looked at my with compassion, spoke softly, and said that she suspected something was wrong. She gave me a hug and said that we were going to get through this, together, and I was so incredibly grateful.

When I was getting food out of the pantry some time after that, probably getting an after school snack, my mom tells me she looked up what I told her about, and she said it sounds like I may have anorexia. She said this so calmly and softly, like it was simply a fact, and that she understands and is ready to help. I love her so much.

This didn't make sense to me at first. Anorexic people are always portrayed as obviously sick, eyes bulging, brittle teeth, and, of course, a thigh gap, which I still didn't have. I did notice I could feel the back of my hip bones, though, and it made me very happy. Even so, in my mind, I was the same weight as I started, which meant I was still fat. After all, I still have some extra pudge on my stomach, and it's only flat when I lay down, so that's cheating.

My mom scheduled another appointment with the same doctor from CHOP, and was able to fit us in sooner rather than later. I am so thankful for this because it could have changed everything for me.

When I got to the doctor's office, my mom came back with me when the nurse took my blood pressure, which was extremely low. My mom pointed out to her that it didn't look right, and the nurse agreed and said she'd tell the doctor right away.

I was weighed at 92 pounds. The first time I was in the hospital, I was 98. This didn't make sense to me, I felt like I was chubbier than last time; I was at least 100 pounds!

Nope. 92. At fifteen and 5'6".

When the doctor came in the room, he had a sad face like I feared. I failed. I'm back. I'm sick again. I then told him—rather my mom did—everything. How we think I have an eating disorder, but I wasn't ready to admit it was probably anorexia the first time too. He then told me in a wavering and heart-breakingly worried voice that I had to go to the hospital immediately. My blood pressure was so low, I could have a heart attack at any minute. He said even though it was the weekend and the official eating rehab program wouldn't start until that Monday, I had to go in tonight, just in case something terrible happened.

If I had gone on a run one extra time, I could have died.

It took me a second to process. I couldn't believe it at first. That doesn't make any sense! I didn't feel that sick. But the worried lines on his face said it all. We had to go to the hospital this instant.

At fifteen, I could have been dead.