Got Hooked?

I did. This weekend. To an old habit I thought I had said goodbye to. It's no secret that I'm working towards recovery from an eating disorder, and I haven't relapsed since Feburary 5th of 2007. This past Saturday, I came close, but I decided to switch addictions instead.

I had a rough dinner. And for those of you that don't have or understand eating disorders, having a rough dinner translates into eating my entire meal. Exciting huh? I realize the solution for most people is "just eat," but I wish I could explain to someone what it feels like to fear food, yet be addicted to it at the same time. To have your addiction be the very thing you need in order to live. Most alcoholics and drug addicts just abstain from their drug/drink of choice. Unfortunately, those of us with eating disorders aren't allowed to abstain from food. Infact the solution to our illness is to do the very thing those with other addictions are advised not to do... enjoy it in moderation. Try telling an aloholic to just have one beer. Or how about a heroin addict... "yea, it's ok for you to shoot up, as long as you only shoot up half... everything in moderation." Those with eating disorders have to face their demons everyday, and usually six times a day... breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner, snack. Wake up and repeat. All day. Everyday. And I'm tired. I'm tired of trying. All day. Everyday.

Moderation. A word I did not understand until treatment. I am an extremist in the truest sense of the word. Which isn't always bad... look at Martin Luther King Jr. He was an extremist for equality, and even he said the world is in need of more extremists... and guess who he referenced? Jesus, who was an extremist in love. The world is in need of more extremists. But extremists are not needed in the field of addiction. What does it look like to be an extremist with an addiction? For me it looks like one cookie is too much, or the whole box is not enough. It's either or. It's black or white. Hot or cold. All or nothing. I think it's safe to assume that alcoholics would agree... one drink is too much, the rest of the bottle is not enough. So what's the solution?Moderation. All Day. Everyday. Yea. Right.

All this to say... recovery is hard. And fortunatley on Saturday, I fell off my high horse.

So after my rough dinner and feeling guilty about what I had eaten, I went to church and remained cool and collected on the outside, but inside I was already scheming up how to get away with using behaviors... which translates into "getting rid of my dinner." I thought about doing so after church but why wait, how about during. No one's ever in the bathroom during the service. Uncomfortably, I sat through worship. I sat through announcments. I sat and watched the guy move rocks from one side of the stage to the other, wondering what the hell he was doing. If I was in my "good christian mood" I probably would have wondered what the heck he was doing, but given the fact that I wanted to engage in negative behaviors I guess I figured I might as well swear too. All or nothing.

Moderation. Saturday night, moderation looked like sitting through church while swearing and scheming up how to use my addiction. Church... swearing. Church... addiction. Most people don't combine the two, or atleast they don't teach their kids to. But Saturday night, I needed to swear and I needed my addiction, so I needed to be in church.

Jon Ferguson spoke about Egypt as being a place of bondage, of being ensalved to the very thing that is harming you. "What is my Egypt," I was asked. To be honest, I got mad at the question... what isn't my Egypt? I was mad because I couldn't sum up my answer in one short little word. I couldn't make it look nice and neat and simple. Fortunately God understands scratchy handwriting, severe stuttering, funny accents, and talking jibberish, so as I stumbled over my words in prayer, I asked God to just save me from myself.

Not only did God understand me, he answered me. God always speaks to me through different people. And that night He spoke through Jon Ferguson.

I ate up every word Jon said, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that I was supposed to be exactly where I was sitting. "Most people never change until the pain of change becomes less than the pain of staying the same," he said. Ouch! No wonder this hurts. "Confess," he said, "means to say the same thing as God. To agree with God." This all of a sudden made total sense to me, because by living in denial I'm essentialy calling God a liar. And I know He's not, and I know I am, so I might as well agree with Him. "Ok God, I agree with you. I am a sinner. Not only am I sinner, but I want to be a sinner. I want to do what it takes to live up to the worlds standards of what it means to be happy and successful. I want the world to like me. I want to be the center of attention. I want to please man. I want to have control. I want a quick fix. I want my eating disorder. I want my ex-boyfriend. I want to have my cake and eat it too. I want to enjoy what the world and what you have to offer. I want you both. I want to settle. I want what I want and I want it now. But God, I don't want to want these things."

I couldn't get it into those exact words in that moment, but God understood my mumbling, because He knows my heart. And the cry of my heart screams out "God, I want to want you!"

As Jon closed in prayer, I cried. I cried because I cause God so much pain. I cried because I continually ask Him to rescue me, but refuse to leave when He asks me to move. I cried because my Egypt is comfortable. I cried because it hurts to leave. I cried because the place I want to stay is the very place that's causing me pain. And I cried because I knew I couldn't go through with using those behaviors.

So I didn't.



This is supposed to be the end of the story where I'm supposed to feel good about myself and everyone tells me how proud they are of me. But unfortuantely, my story doesn't end here.

I was proud of myself while I was at church, and I really did feel better. But instead of using eating disorder behaviors, I just replaced them, not even aware until after the fact. I was invited to go have a few drinks with a friend. A few turned into not able to drive. Was it fun? Yes. If it wasn't fun it wouldn't have been tempting. But when I woke up the next morning, the emotional pain was so much worse than the physical. I didn't even plan to do that, it just happened. And right after an amazing church service where I felt like I had a major break through.

But this is where my heart really broke... Before leaving church on Saturday night I had the pleasure of meeting Edward, an older, but not old, gentleman who works at the resources table before and after services. He approached me and said he had heard my testimony about being in recovery from my past... alcohol, drugs, guys, eating disorders. He was very encouraging and said that recovery is the best place to be. I agreed. But he knows a bit more about it than I do, He's been sober for 23 years!

Sunday morning when I walked into church to work in the cafe, Edward was the first person I saw. "Hi Edward! How are You?" His response... "Oh I'm good, I got my miracle for the day, I woke up sober!" OUCH! Oh it hurt so bad. I was so happy for Edward, but man did that knock the wind right out of me. I was so disappointed with myself. I felt like a failure. I thought I should be proud just because I didn't use behaviors, but I realized I did, just in a different form.

I wish this story had a profound ending. Something to the effect of "and after I heard the message, I left and sinned no more!" I'm sure we all wish that. But nope, it ends with me messing up... Which has reminded me that I am in desperate need of a Savior.