Several months ago, I had “Joseph” as my guest to write a post for me about a different kind of fasting through the perspective of an eating disordered male. Here is his follow-up post about the process of his recovery.

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A day of reflection hits, you’re a shell, skin and bones, counting costs
Is it worth your soul?
A day of reflection hits…

There is just something about music that causes us to reflect. It’s not just the words of a particular song, either. Nor is it necessarily the meaning behind those words. Not that the lyrics from Creed’s “Full Circle” didn’t hit me like a ton of bricks; on the contrary. The pulsating anthem couldn’t have been any more timely or relevant in my current state, with each word striking a forgotten chord in my anxious mind and reeling body. But there was something more to the song. It was as if Scott Stapp seemed to be communicating with me; not just yelling lyrics towards me, but rather speaking to me.

Recalled from my guilt and the continual feeding of my disordered behavior, the silence from which I sinned was suddenly being actively disrupted. My behavior was being called out. My spiritually questioned. My commitment to recovery put to the test. No, not silently and passively within some far-flung corner of my debating mind; but loudly and angrily by a presence right beside me. It was as if Stapp – himself long shamed and scarred – was standing right next to beleaguered body on the treadmill. My own skin and bones — hanging on for dear life in the misguided attempt to squeeze out one more mile, one more minute, one more calorie — were suddenly called to life by a presence both comforting and threatening. My parents’ house was empty on that dreary morning, but although I was alone, I was slowly being called out of my own mind.

The jolt of consciousness, even if temporary, was liberating.

It’s funny how times can change, rearrange and distance makes
The pain fade away
So important then, doesn’t matter now
Both feet on the ground
Come full circle, yeah, come full circle

I have not come full circle.

It has been several months since I posted here and shared a part of my story. Back then, midway through the Catholic Holy season of Lent, I discussed the importance of fasting for someone attempting to overcome not only an eating disorder, but an array of issues related to anxiety and an overwhelming and all-consuming need for control. Rather, I explained the importance of a different kind of fasting based not on giving up food, but rather surrendering my need for control to God, and allowing Him to guide me through recovery.

The giving up of control, the breaking of habits and the realization that true faith comes from having trust that God would ease my anxiety as I attempted to recover were my goals for Lent. You could say that they were met, and that to a certain extent, I was able to push past many barriers which long tainted my person. Yet like so many Catholics and like so many in recovery from whatever ill that ails them, the goals I reached for and in some cases achieved became hollow following the allotted period. Lent became just a “kill the clock” scenario, and following the holiest of all seasons, I reverted back to my old habits. Whether it be in my compulsive desire to exercise or my overwhelming and all-consuming need to be productive and excel in my profession and studies, I soon found myself shunning God once again in my own twisted desire to establish personal control in every area of my life. Taking the time to admire the day or see the beauty of creation may have been on my radar following my February health scare and subsequent wake-up call, but it was now manifest as just another “check box challenge” – a hollow, built-in aspect of my controlled, ‘perfect’ 12-step recovery I thought I was buying into. Professing to live for God, I instead continued, and still continue, to struggle in living for the passing vanities of this world.

It’s too bad recovery cannot be so simple as our ‘perfect’ conception would allow, especially for those of us who struggle with anxiety in so many other facets of our lives. It’s not that recovery isn’t something we seek, but the pain in getting there makes taking the first and necessary steps all the more difficult. I had made progress, to be sure, but as I found myself traveling back from school at the end of the semester, I realized that I was not in fact on the swift road to rediscovering my former self and restoring my body, mind and spirit to a state in which I could be happy and truly productive (which is to say productive in the eyes of God) in life.

Back at home for the last few weeks of May, I soon found myself slipping into the pattern of meaningless activities to pass my days. Exercise. Eat. Make Money. The cycle was well known and familiar. I controlled it. Yet it allows no variability. No joy. No imagination or room for growth or adventure. And even though I might choose a “challenge” with ignoring a day of work or by eating a ‘forbidden food’ or wasting a few bucks on a social outing, I was always quick to build in the control factors to save face the very next day. It was, and remains, a kind of purgatory.

I got one foot stuck in heaven, yeah
One boot stuck in hell
I looked at God, he winked at me
I made this mess myself
Don’t be surprised and don’t deny
Hear every word I say
Close the door and don’t look back or you will fade away

I have debated the point with Sophia in the past, and despite my initial objections, I now believe that she is right. Recovery – whether it be in terms of an eating disorder, anxiety, depression or whatever struggle we face – must be an “all in” process. Coming into the summer months I knew food wasn’t an issue anymore, at least not in the traditional sense of an eating disorder. I could conquer a 1000 calorie burger in a sitting. I delighted in pushing my taste buds and indulging my foodie sense of adventure. The challenges of the past six months had left with a love of both fine foods and nostalgic ‘junk.’ But just because I could order a large McDonalds fry for dinner or grab a donut from Dunkin Donuts didn’t mean I was better, not by any means.

If anything, these challenges have only reinforced the rigidness and need for control that my ED and anxiety disorder instilled within me. Sure, I may look fine while confronting a mega burger or cinnamon roll, but when entire days of restriction for this macronutrient or that level of activity were built into my day solely with the intention of allowing myself to indulge, is that really recovery? When worrying, almost nonstop, about saturated fat or sodium or trans fat dominated by thoughts in the wake of every meal, is that truly allowing myself to live?

My struggles, as I have hinted at in the past, have never been truly about food. Self-worth, anxiety about the future, a fear of the unknown; these are the issues which plague me, and have made me unable (and, on some level, unwilling) to change completely. I am not all in. But I will get there. How? By taking the same sense of adventure, the same sense of liberation that comes with breaking ‘food’ rules and applying them to break the constraints that hold me back in all areas of my life.

So what do I do to get there when I’m stuck in the very environment which supports the need for control, and reinforces the disordered structures I put my trust in? Stuck in an empty house, with the temptation to continue to pass my days and define my life with the same destructive and damning idols which plunged me into this darkness to begin with, I do the only thing I can do. I close the door and change.

The changes are not major. They are seldom world-defying. But as I go through my lonely summer days, with the constant anxiety over the need to find “productivity” in my life – whether it come from exercise, diet, work or money hoarding – I’m finding that I have choices. I also find that the situation has changed, and with each venture into the unknown, each adventure in breaking the chains of routine and schedule, that my value and worth comes not from the grayscale landscape of a day of perfect nutrition or career advancement. So important then, I now can ask the liberating question of “does it matter now?” and find that it doesn’t.

I am erratic at times. I go from one thing to another. I struggle to keep my mind at ease. Sometimes I remind myself of an eight year old with ADD and too much sugar. Other times, I sink into a lonely depression reminiscent of an old war veteran, staring off into an empty scene. But slowly and surely, I am being recalled to the person I once was, and no longer letting work or food or exercise define who I am and how I structure my day. I give myself variety, whether it be in breaking a set eating time or exercise activity or making an impulsive buy for some useless gizmo. I am finding a certain delight and sense of adventure in the unknown. Waking up the next day, I find, despite the struggle of pushing through the boundaries, that there is life beyond the routine and need for absolute control that I cling to. Visiting old friends and engaging in social activities that make me uncomfortable, I nevertheless find value in the attempt, and am rewarded with the knowledge that I am slowly rediscovering both myself and my values, and in some sense, allowing my true person to shine forth.

And, as I push outward, I learn that it’s not always about me, and it’s not always about food. Sometimes the toughest challenges are just pushing my body through a game of tennis with my father for his sake (I hate tennis, he loves it), or sitting down and reading a book for thirty minutes for the sake of just learning about something new. Perhaps it will be spending money on lunch with a friend, or maybe just writing an email to a professor or attending a morning bible study at my church. Anything to break the repetition of past habits, and anything to open me up to a change. I’ve even begun to attend pro-life prayer vigil’s sponsored by a local faith group, doing nothing but standing and praying for two hours at a time. If that is not teaching an anxious mind to sit still, I don’t know what is.

It’s funny how times can change, rearrange and distance makes
The pain fade away
So important then, doesn’t matter now
Both feet on the ground
Come full circle, yeah, come full circle

I am not yet full circle. I still have an unhealthy relationship with food, exercise, anxiety and dealing with social situations. But slowly and surely I find myself closing the gap, getting closer to being “all in” as I learn that the farther I get from my old habits and structure, the more those built-in control aspects really don’t matter.

Music is a funny thing I guess. Trapped within our own minds, it calls us to action, yet speaks to us – perhaps by way of God – in ways that are not only timely but relevant. And, when gripped within the pain of our own struggles, it reminds us of our consciousness, recalling lost values which will help us to one day come full circle.

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