Reality sets in.

"There are some other financial options if, for some reason, your insurance wouldn't come through. Sometimes churches will help out with this sort of thing."

"I know, but I feel guilty for asking for that. I mean, there are the homeless and poor who need that money. There are people out there who can't eat..."

My therapist interrupts my Mother quickly, but gently, "But that's where she is." She points to me. "She can't feed herself. This is life and death. She can't eat." I hear the urgency and compassion in her voice, see it in her eyes. She repeats herself, motioning to me as if placing her hand over my heart from across the room, "She can't eat."

Tears well up. I feel truly helpless for the first time... ever. And there it is. The truthfulness of the situation is exposed. There's nothing for me to hide behind, nothing to cover it up.

It hurts. It stings.

I've fought for years to gain control over my life, my emotions, my head, my body...and the reality is, I can't even feed myself now. I've worked so hard trying to pretend to be grown up. "Yeah, I've got it all together. I'm fine. Leave me alone." All the while, I've been spiraling down, deeper into despair, doubt, hopelessness, fear, anger, sadness...reverting back years and years. I'm an infant. The most simple task has become too difficult.

I bow my head and stare at my feet. Shame overtakes me. How could this happen? How did I get here? Why am I hurting this badly...to cause me to literally become a scared child?

My dietitian and therapist continue the conversation with my Mother. I see in her eyes some enlightenment after that statement. She's beginning to understand. She reaches over and puts her hand on mine.

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They recommended with urgency a residential stay for me. They said that my chances for recovery are extremely low if I don't get the proper level of care for the severity of my ED. They estimated 5-7 or more years for complete recovery. It's such a long climb up a mountain that seems impossible to scale.

And I'm ambivalent.

After the assessment appointment with my Mom, the reality of my situation has become clear, and there's a stirring in me....for normalcy, for health and happiness. But I'm holding on so tight to my ED. It's been there for me when no one else was. It got me through so many things. I don't know that I would even be here without it. How could I betray something that is so much a part of who I am?

I'm torn. I'm broken and sad.

My Mom has decided to take their advice and look into some of the facilities they suggested.

"Everything is going to be alright. We need to get you well."

Ultimately, I have to make the choice.

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