Lately, I’ve been thinking about my breakthroughs in eating disorder recovery over the past 5 years. A recent major breakthrough happened just this past Spring. I find it ironic, because up until then, I felt very confident I was recovered from bulimia. But after the passing of a family member I deeply loved and cared for in late May, and while I was mourning that loss, I experienced a great deal of pain and sadness. Both were triggering my eating disorder, threatening the breakthroughs I've experienced in eating disorder recovery.

Writing an eating disorder blog, I walk a fine line. This is not my personal blog for me to whine and complain about everything that is going tough for me in recovery, and certainly not the place for me to discuss my weight, BMI, or specific behaviors.  At the same time, this blog was never meant to read like a peer-reviewed journal article, sterile and clinical. There are plenty of resources out there written by professionals - which I am not - that can tell you all about the ins and outs of symptoms of eating disorders, their treatment, their recovery. In fact, there is a lot of great information in HealthyPlace's own Eating Disorder Community section. So today, you just get a personal entry. Where I am in recovery. What I'm struggling with. What the next few weeks will bring for me.

I caught myself thinking the other day, "I wish I JUST had an eating disorder" or "I wish I JUST had bipolar." Meaning, of course, that I wish I only had to deal with one of my many mental health diagnoses as opposed to dealing with them all at once.

Do you believe there is hope for recovery from your eating disorder? Or do you believe the best you can hope for is management of your eating disorder symptoms? I believe there is hope. I believe that one day, I will be free.

I woke up in a cold sweat, terrified. My heart was racing and I was fighting nausea. I was still wearing the clothes I came home in the day before. I reached for my cell phone and quickly called 911. I was panicking and it was difficult for me to talk. I explained what was going on while the dispatcher tried to calm me and get me to take my pulse. Soon the paramedics and police were at my home. I was freezing as they wheeled me out to the waiting ambulance. At the hospital, I told them that I had been in an area hospital for seven days for re-feeding and detox from alcohol and prescription drugs. I noticed a slight change in their attitude as they listened. Soon, I was told that it was caused by withdrawal from benzodiazepines, or tranquilizers. The ER staff then discharged me at 1:30 a.m. I arrived home, confused and wondering if I would ever get better.

It was 3 a.m., January 1, 2012. I had been struggling to sleep for hours. All had did though was constantly shift around in my hospital bed and throw covers on and off, as my head throbbed and waves of heat flushed my face. It left me hot and then freezing cold. It was the last night of my hospital stay and I had gotten progressively sicker in the past few days. The nurses simply told me I must have the flu or something since I had a slight fever and struggled to eat — not a good thing for a recovering anorexic. I pushed the call button for the night nurse, hoping for some relief but knowing I had just taken a pain killer a few hours before and, therefore, there was nothing anyone could do. He brought me a box of tissues as I started crying and tossing around, saying "I guess this is what they call hitting rock bottom, huh?" He told me to go ahead and cry. I had been in the hospital since December 26. It has been both the hardest and most rewarding thing I have ever done.

In February 2010, I entered inpatient treatment for anorexia nervosa, anxiety, and depression. I felt like a complete failure that this was my sixth inpatient admission, and I vowed that it would be my last admission. On Monday, I will once again admit myself to the hospital for six days of psychiatric treatment. It was a difficult decision to make, and one that many of us struggling with eating disorders and co-morbid illnesses often face.

I haven't been sober more than a few days each month since October. I have only eaten a handful of what would be considered real meals in several months. I consume more calories in alcohol than food, and simply admitting that has to be one of the hardest things I have ever done.

For weeks, I have struggled to do anything beyond the bare minimum. Eating disorders are in part coping mechanisms, and can be deceptively helpful in masking painful emotions. That can make recovery from an eating disorder very difficult, because most people struggle with painful emotions and would rather push these feelings aside than face them. I always like to think I am different - but I am not - and that I can push through the emotions the recovery stirs up. Each time I begin the recovery process with a fierce determination to beat anorexia nervosa for the last time. I feel strong and sure as I start to eat regular meals and snacks and stop all related eating disorder behaviors, and I know in my heart that I will travel the road to full recovery without roadblocks or detours. But emotions can only be suppressed for so long, and I inevitably become anxious and depressed as I begin to eat like a normal person. Determination fades and strength wavers as all the emotions that I couldn't feel while in the middle of my eating disorder come roaring back, leaving me cowering in the corner.

I live in a small town, and it was very noticeable when I first developed anorexia four years ago. The roller coaster of recovery and relapse also has been very noticeable, and each time I find myself having to explain either weight loss or weight gain. It's frustrating because I am more than my eating disorder.