I bet you're wondering why I'm doing my final post so much later than the last post I wrote. The thing is, I was hospitalized, and didn't have a chance to grab my computer before I was admitted. Despite all my best efforts, upon seeing the doctor on Friday, I learned I was still 113 pounds, anemic, and had a resting heart rate of 37. I had no option but the hospital. The good news is the hospitals recovery program is much less rigorous as far as meals go and much more intensive in psychological therapy, which is what I have really needed. Thanks to what I was put through in the past week, I should be able to be healthy again within the next few days. I think from this I've learned that while my mind may be stronger than this disorder, ED still can make tiny victories. I am only human, but for every victory, ED is empowered, and my health drops exponentially. At the hospital, I eat meals with other patients with eating disorders. I see how hard they struggle and I feel sympathy and I also reflect on how far I've come. I almost feel bad that I'm here barely struggling while they have to use every fiber of their being to resist ED. Indeed I was once at that point. However, I don't feel any pride or gratification for having made it through that, and I still ponder why I am eating without feeling any reward or seeing any reward in the near future. I still feel guilt and shame for what I put my parents through, how I tortured them. They keep telling me that it was out of my control, but it felt so lucid. In retrospect, I think the Maudsley method is heavily dependent on the strength and solidarity of family relationships. With my sisters drug problem and my parents shaky relationship, the burden of my disorder was the straw that broke the camels back. All of my emotions were bottled up, with no outlet to vent. Here at the hospital, we have group sessions to talk about how to battle ED using the basic cognitive method, and I can talk to psychiatrists who have seen hundreds of patients with my same problem and know exactly what I am talking about. Its also comforting to know the medical necessity of refeeding. Learning the precarity of my medical situation has opened my eyes. I can rationalize now why I have to do this, even if my heart isn't all there in motivation. My mind is clearing though, it seems. I can go through a whole meal without anxiety sometimes. But another part of me is sad that ED is dying. I want to feel that presence that moves me to exercise. I felt like I was in better shape than I ever have been in the unrestrained months I had the disorder. I feel like I can turn these feelings on their head in a healthy way, by exercising and weight lifting but also eating right, so instead of becoming emaciated I become muscular and full bodied. I'm beginning to feel alive again and it would be unfair to say zyprexa is the only contributing factor to that. Food, my medicine, has saved me. I feel like it is the spring time after the longest winter, and that I am just beginning to thaw. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I feel like I am bursting with potential. The self loathing attitude I held at the beginning of the week has improved significantly. I've realized from every time I couldn't stop myself from purging that this disorder is far beyond my conscious control, and the only time I can fight on its level is at meals. Every time I finished a meal, I broke it just a little. My tiny victories also gave me greater control over myself as time passed. As I must continue after these seven days to adhere to my blog's protocol, I will keep this is mind. I can win, I know, and I will.