A Safe Haven

Well, it's been a while since my last post. Much has happened in the last few weeks. I've had several binges and breakdowns, and made quite a few suicide threats. My depression put me in a hole deeper and darker than ever before, despite the medication.

Last Sunday, my hopelessness was overwhelming. I had binged and purged every day that week, and I didn't see how I could ever bring it to an end. After having our weekly family taco time at my Aunt Rhonda's house, she asked me if I wanted to talk for a bit. Rhonda could see the despair in my eyes as I told her about my discouraging week. "I know that as soon as I go home, I'm going straight to the kitchen cupboard," I sobbed, "that's all I want to do, and all I can think about: eat, eat, eat.I eat until I'm sick...I throw up...then I eat even more!"
That morning in church, I couldn't worship the Lord; all I could see in my mind was a big bowl of cookie dough. I wanted to taste it, to feel the texture of the butter and the sugar as it melted in my mouth. Just think, I could be home eating cookie dough right now, I thought to myself.
Of course, this food fantasy thing is completely ridiculous, but at the time, these thoughts were all my mind could dwell on; this frustrated me.
After a long discussion on my current state, Rhonda suggested that I live a couple days with her and my Uncle Charlie. I was hesitant at first, but I knew this is what I needed to do in this desperate time. "What you need is a safe environment," Rhonda said, "a place where you can take refuge and gain a few days of victory."
So, I packed my suitcase and cosmetic bag, and stayed Monday through Wednesday at the Abellara house.
I am sooooo grateful for my aunt and uncle's kindness! Charlie installed a lock on their kitchen pantry, and Rhonda threw out all her ice cream. Rhonda also set up a baby monitor in the guest bedroom to prevent any nighttime binging.
Even when my one-year-old cousin Everett spent the night, the baby monitor remained in my room. Needless to say, my 3:00am binge/purge sessions were put to a halt.
As far as the daytime went, my instructions were to stick to Rhonda like glue. I had no problem with this; if I was going to stick to anyone, I'd want it to be Rhonda. Her compassion absolutely astounds me!
My stay with Rhonda drew me out of my pitiful isolation, and back into reality. I was finally able to function, and eat like a normal human being! It felt fantastic!!! Rhonda and I worked out with some amazing friends (Brookie and Julie), ate healthy and satisfying meals, and had deep and encouraging discussions.
Those three days helped me get back into the swing of things, and helped me realize that I don't have to let bulimia turn me into a miserable wreck.

before I returned home, Rhonda and I made sure my house would be a safe place- a place where I could be confident, and the temptation wouldn't be so overbearing.
My parents were more than happy to put a lock on the pantry and throw out the ice cream. I was so relieved to come home and not have the ability to binge...there was no way I could binge, so there was no reason to purge!
I didn't have to purge!!! This was fantastic news!

Of course...the binge food found a way of reappearing. After going an entire week without binging (that's seven days of victory in a row!!!), I returned to my self-destructive habits.
Yes, binging makes me miserable; yes, binging makes me gain weight; yes, binging is a waste of food, a waste of time, and a waste of emotional energy.
So why do I continue with my bulimic behaviors?
Simple: those behaviors are familiar. I am scared to death of the unknown, but I know that food will give me the temporary high that I crave. But with the high...comes the crash.
Sundays have been a struggle for years. My extended family always gets together after church for tacos; it's been a tradition since before I was born. You can imagine, with lots of people, there's lots of food. When I was 15 and 16, I had no idea what binging was (much less a sign of an eating disorder). Sundays were my overeating days. I would wait until everyone was out of the kitchen, then I would cram what was left of the taco ingredients in my mouth. Chips, guacamole, cheese, re fried beans- this would be my secret feast, a time when I could eat all I wanted and not be judged. These feasts became a weekly ritual. Sometimes I would make myself sick, but still continue eating. "This is my moment of freedom," I would think.
Little did I know that these habits would soon wind me up in chains.
Now, every Sunday taco time is a mental battle. Will I allow food to chain me to the kitchen, to keep me from spending time with my family and the people I love? This is what Bulimia has done to me; it literally has taken full control.

Well, this last Sunday (April 18th), my house that had been free of binge food for seven days became a death trap. My grandma (who I could never be bitter toward) brought ingredients for tacos and desert for afterwards. Keep in mind that I had been doing well for a whole week, and had no intention to binge...until I saw the desert- ice cream and cookies. I could feel the chains wrapping around my ankles. I wanted to flee, to get far away from this torment. Not only was there desert on the counter, but all the leftovers from the tacos as well...and I was all alone. This was the perfect trap, but I somehow resisted. My mom and my grandma were finished with their lunch and planned to go to the garage-sale down the street. "I'll come too," I practically screamed. There was no way I could be left alone with all this delicious and enticing food.
I almost escaped from this dreadful snare. I got about halfway down the road, when the chains prevented me from moving forward; I was being dragged back to the kitchen, back into the trap.
"Ummm, I have to pee," I lied. The chains became shorter and shorter until I was completely shackled to the kitchen counter. All reason and logic left my mind, and I became Rachelle the binge zombie. I shoveled as much food as I possibly could into my mouth. I was a slave again, and Bulimia was my master.
Like the Israelites wandering in the dessert, I thought I would be happier if I returned to Egypt.
Like the Israelites...I couldn't be more wrong.

The cycle started again: binge, purge, cry, moan, binge again, purge again; not once would I feel satisfied, not once would I feel happy.
Maybe Egypt wasn't such a good idea after all.

Once all the yummy binge food was gone, I was still feeling empty (well, physically my stomach was filled to the max). After literally tossing my cookies, I had to resort to the bagels in the freezer. I cradled a toasted bagel and cream cheese in my hands. "Will I be any happier after I eat this?" I thought. "There's only one way to find out." I scarfed down the bagel in about two seconds. "Hmmmm, I'm still not happy...I must need more bagels!" Five more bagels and a tub of cream cheese later, I was just as miserable (if not more)as before.

I called Rhonda, and we both agreed that staying a couple days with her would be a good idea. On Monday, I couldn't even get out of bed, let alone pack my bags. I was back in my black pit of despair, overwhelmed and unable to function. My mom told me to take the day one step at a time. Step one: work out. I ran a few miles, then I broke down again. "I can't take it! It's too much! Why can't I just give up?"
I tried to pack my bags, but all I could do was lie flat on my floor and sob.
Hours passed, and the tears kept coming, and the wailing never ceased. My mom finally broke through the lock on my door. She had promised my little brothers that they would get to go to the library, but I couldn't come along in this miserable state. "I'll only be gone for twenty minutes," she said. "Can you promise to stay out of the kitchen?"
"I can't make promises I can't keep," I replied.
Surprisingly, my mom left anyway. She told me later that she thought I couldn't get in any worse shape than I already was. In the words of the Grinch: "WRONGO!"
Twenty minutes was all I needed to whip up a nice bowl of cookie dough (the chocolate chips were locked up in the pantry, but I made due with butter, brown sugar, granulated sugar, and whole wheat flour).
As soon as it was purging time, my dad drove in the driveway. I was immediately ashamed, and I hid under a towel in my bathroom.
My dad found me in my pathetic hiding spot. "Honey, can you tell me what's wrong?"
"Everything," I choked out. "It's all too much. I'm overwhelmed, and I can't take it anymore. I just want my life to end!"
My dad had tears in his eyes. "You can't give up. It's not in you to give up. I know that if I would have given up when I felt like it, it would hurt you. But if you give up now, it kill me. You can't take your life. You are too precious to me, and you are too precious to God. He has great things planned for you, don't let this stop you. The enemy is coming after you because he knows God will use you greatly for his kingdom. Don't let the enemy have his way. God is here to help you, and so am I."
Once my mom got back, we packed up for Rhonda's house, and I left my binge and my setbacks behind me.
Well, I'm in a binge free zone- my safe haven. Staying with Rhonda and Charlie helps me refocus and get back on track. So far, I've gone 24 hours without a binge or purge, and I'm feeling one hundred times better.
My main goal is to get in to Mercy Ministries as soon as possible. I believe that going through the Mercy program is what I need to do in order to receive full healing. I had my phone interview with one of the staff, and it left me feeling pretty hopeful. The questions I was asked were deep and intimate, but I kept my answers as honest as possible.
It's all in God's hands now. If he wants me to go to Mercy Ministries, then he will provide the way. His timing is perfect, and so is his plan for my life.