The fall of 1981 was one of isolation, hopelessness, and being totally overwhelmed. I was supposed to be having a wonderful time as a freshman at the University of Illinois- Urbana-Champaign campus. I was 17 years old when I got there, and had become seriously anorexic the summer before when working as a nature counselor at a summer church camp I loved. I wasn’t super skinny, but my mind was a total eating disorder trap. Every thought included how to avoid eating, how to ‘get rid’ of food (I used laxatives- 10 of them 4 times a day), and how to avoid being noticed. I bombed that last one pretty quickly.
My roommate and I didn’t last long. She thought I was too quiet, and requested to move out (which she did). Looking back, I can’t blame her; watching someone self-destruct and be so consumed by the eating disorder had to be miserable for her. We both had double rooms to ourselves- which just meant more isolation for me. Outside of classes, I spent a lot of time walking around campus, or taking the bus to various parts of town, and just walking. When I was in the dorm, I’d look out of my 12th floor window, and follow the lights of cars as they drove through the countryside at night. I played a Christian radio station for comfort, and just wondered if I’d get better. Then I’d get scared that ‘getting better’ meant eating, and I’d fall back into the ‘starvation’ mode with even more determination. Other than the background music, and the fighting in my head, most nights were eerily quiet. Those who know the insulating effect of heavy snow, and how it mutes most sound, will understand what my head ‘sounded like’ for the many months I was there.
I’m not sure how I lasted as long as I did. My weight was relatively stable, but the starving/bingeing/purging patterns were also how I was ‘living’. I’d take 10 laxatives at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime with a 16 ounce glass bottle of Diet Rite cola. If I ‘had’ to be seen eating at dinner (only meal where I’d be noticed- missing, eating, or acting weird), I’d have an apple or half of a baked potato. That would trigger intense guilt, and I’d run up the 12 flights of stairs to my room. Then I’d get homework done, and go back to watching the lights of the cars in the night. Weekends were binges, that included pulling cheese from pizza boxes in the trash room, among a lot of other things. Then more laxatives.
When I did try to get to sleep, it was another battle. There were many nights when I’d watch one specific star as it moved across the sky. Many times, I’d get up to go to the bathroom (spent a lot of time in there with 40 laxatives per day), and pass out before I could get back to my room. I’d be sent out by ambulance, rehydrated, and sent back to the dorm. They’d lecture me about how unhealthy eating disorders were, and I’d nod, then go back to my crazy routine. I was light enough to be carried by one paramedic. Still too fat.
What stands out the most from that semester, besides being so sick, were those nights of such ‘silence’ as I watched those car lights (and occasional police car’s red flashes ) move across the view I had from that 12th floor dorm room. I’d wonder what those people were doing, and if they were in their own living hell. I’d wonder if I’d ever get out of the mess in my head. I’d wonder why I couldn’t just snap out of it and eat, without the blinding feeling of guilt for having fed myself. It was like I was punishing myself for existing and having human requirements to survive. But I had no good reason why. I’d been born there (and placed for adoption), but the starvation (and diet contests) had been brewing for a few years- so the whole adoption/ birthplace thing didn’t really pan out. My mom had been constantly on me about my weight (when I wasn’t fat). Maybe I just picked up where she left off. I don’t know. I eventually did ‘click’ with the explanation given by Peggy Claude-Pierre, that the ‘negative mind’ was the one in control during eating disorders, and refused to allow the anorexic/bulimic to tolerate self-care and survival. I knew of “the voice”, that had a name. It was relentless.
But those nights were so muffled and eerie externally. I won’t ever forget those. Or how scared I was. And alone. I had several people looking after me from their assigned ‘roles’ (therapist, resident director, resident advisor, and several dorm-mates), but nobody understood. They each tried to help in some way, but I was on my own, with something I couldn’t handle. I refused to tell my parents (I saw that as failure, which wasn’t allowed). So I tried to just keep going… but how long could I go on fumes? Many days I had fewer than 300 calories. When I binged, it was a disgusting amount of food, but it possibly gave me enough of a ‘boost’ to keep going. Laxatives don’t remove food; they remove water- so some nutrients got in… but I was running on empty, and running OUT of time.
And it was so, so quiet when I looked out at the world from that 12th floor dorm room window.