**** I know sometimes I curse. I’m trying to limit that, but for my ED series, I want to recreate the exact way I thought at the time. So there will always be a few unsavory words. But I think it also accurately depicts the ugliness of the situation.

To my Christian friends: Please keep my parents in prayer, as they are on an important mission trip to China right now…and the current political and spiritual atmosphere in China is quite tumultuous.

P.S. This series is a retelling of my life more than two years ago. It’s not my life now, haha!  ****

 

Before I left America for my 2008 Asia trip, I was truly convinced that I could do it.

I had significantly increased my caloric intake, I was finally excited about something, and I felt myself genuinely wanting to get better.

My mother was already at my hometown in Cheonju, and it was just my dad and me taking a Korean airline to Incheon Airport, where we will meet my mother.

The plan was that we would spend about a day together for my dad to rest, and then my dad would take off to China for his mission trip, while my mother and I would head back together south to Cheonju and stay about a week with the relatives. A week later, we would all meet at Incheon again, spend a couple days there for my dad to recuperate from his China trip, then head on down to Malaysia, where both my mom and I would join my dad in his mission trip. Three days in Malaysia, and we would finally arrive in Singapore. I would spend a month in Singapore, while my parents would head back to America.

So: Incheon, Korea (with dad) –> Cheonju (one week with my mom and relatives) –> Malaysia (three days with both parents) –> Singapore (one month, myself) –> fly back home myself.

Right from the start, I felt optimistic. I had been worried about the 16-hour flight on economy seats, especially in my frail condition, but somehow one of the seats of the three-person seat my dad and I were assigned to was empty, so my dad and I shared three seats and taking turns to stretch out, which helped tremendously. When the air stewardess ferried out meals, I found myself panicking just a little bit, but still able to eat most of the food, which pleased my dad. However, I did leave behind the white roll and the dessert. Little steps, I told myself.

Of course, it was what I’d been telling myself all along with my 2-month oatmeal diet.

I lugged my 3-lb bag of oats with me with my natural peanut butter all the way to Korea, because I knew I would be spending a whole week at my relatives and I was afraid they would force me to eat white rice. I was also “addicted” to oats at the time, and I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to find oats in Korea or Singapore. Also, I definitely did not want commercial peanut butter—no sugar and hydrogenated in my nut butter!

My dad wasn’t very happy when he saw me packing that into my luggage. And my mom definitely wasn’t either when she found out.

“Why didn’t you watch her?” my mom said to my dad. “Why did you let her bring all these stuff with her?”

My dad sighed. “We’ve been watching and telling her what to eat for years. She’s going to spend a whole month without us in Singapore. She needs to take responsibility for herself now. We can’t always watch her.”

When I heard that, I was both relieved and terrified. I was relieved that my parents weren’t going to confiscate my oat stash (how pathetic), but I was also terrified by the sudden idea that I was going to have to fend for myself. Without my parents to keep an eye on me, would I be able to keep up with my recovery? What if I failed, and I got even worse? Can I really make it by myself?

My one week in Korea sucked all previous optimism out of me. It was one of the most stressful, depressing moments because I was suddenly dropped into a new environment, away from my bed and my fridge stocked with safe foods at home. Instead, I was constantly edgy, devising ways to deny the snack and tidbits that my concerned and loving relatives kept pushing at me. Every meal was a battle, because I had no control over them. Everything was a group decision, and I had no say in the matter. I couldn’t choose when to eat, what to eat, how to eat.

It was also not at all like I imagined. I imagined that we would be going out often to eat at nice restaurants with delicious food. It was not like that at all.

For some reason, it was easier for me to accept eating unplanned foods if we were dining out. That at least meant there would be a menu, and I could have some form of control of what to order.

But it turned out that most meals in Korea were indoors, cooked and served by my aunt or my grandmother. Your rice was portioned out for you. There was none of the distractions typically at restaurants that kept people from noticing what and how much you were eating. And because you weren’t paying for that food and someone who loves you cooked it for you, you were obligated to eat it. And for an anorexic, that is one of the most awful situations to be in.

I remember the first night at my grandmother’s house. She had cooked for us some basic dishes: rice, some kind of soup, a small selection of banchan (Korean side dishes).

As I sat at the table (it was just my grandmother, my mom and I), I was suddenly overwhelmed with rage and frustration. I literally felt like I was being chained down and force-fed. I gripped my chopsticks, clenched my teeth, and I could barely bring myself to choke down some kimchi. My mind was racing in all directions, and I could barely think straight.

I didn’t want to eat it. Plain and simple. I couldn’t differentiate though, whether it was because I couldn’t eat it out of fear, or because I won’t. All I knew was that I just didn’t want to.

Why? Because. I just don’t want to. Because. People want me to. Because. She’s serving me white rice—White! Rice! Argh! Because. Everything tastes like c**p. Because. I was sitting on my fat ass in the bus all day and I didn’t get my exercise. Because. They want to fatten me up. Because. I’m a lab rat and they’re all watching me. Because. Everything in me just wants to puke everything all up. Because. I want to starve. Because. I want to be anorexic and they’re not letting me.

I was desperately blinking away tears. I didn’t understand the emotions pounding inside me, drumming my ears and head until I was dizzy and hysterical. I didn’t know who or what I was so angry at.

The atmosphere was tense. My mom was getting increasingly angry and embarrassed for me, while my grandmother—my poor, dear grandmother—just really didn’t know what to do or say. She offered to make something else for me, and my mother angrily told her not to. She needs to learn to eat what she’s given, she said. And I shook with rage again, thinking, I’m effing 21. I’m an effing adult. I shouldn’t need to be told what to eat. I should be in college. I shouldn’t be here, being treated like a baby. What the heck am I doing here? God, I just want to die.

Oh my God, I was just so mad, so inexplicably livid. All over a meal that my grandmother prepared for my mom and me.

In the end, my grandmother ignored my mother’s protest and roasted some sweet potatoes for me. That quelled me down. Sweet potatoes, that I could handle. As long as it’s not white rice.

As I ate those sweet potatoes (and Korean sweet potatoes are absolutely delicious) and my fears, anxieties and rage faded away, a fresh wave of self-disgust and shame washed over me. What was I doing? What kind of person am I, to do this to my grandmother? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be like. I wasn’t prepared for this trip after all. Sure I had made some basic changes like eating more, but I had wasted those two months before travel deluding myself into thinking I was doing enough self challenges to prepare myself for this trip.

I lost the few pounds of weight I had gained before the trip during the one week stay in Korea.

When my dad met me and my mom at the airport after his China trip, I could see the expression of frustration and disappointment on his face. It made me feel so ashamed, and that made me angry at myself for being a dumb anorexic and also at both my parents for always pressuring me to recover.

I cried a lot during that time. I avoided my parents as much as I could while sharing a hotel room with them. I went out for long walks, mostly because I was anxious all the time and I needed to release the pent-up negative energy. I felt like I was never doing enough. I felt like no matter what positive changes I made, my parents never praised me for it, but just wanted more and more changes, changes for which I was not ready. Why can’t they just accept the fact that I might never be recovered? I thought. For God’s sake, they are so freaking annoying!

I’m way in over my head, I told myself, fear gripping my throat again as I thought of all the greasy, refined, caloric and wonderful-tasting Singaporean foods I would most likely not be able to eat. Singapore, the land of all my wonderful childhood memories, filled with all my favorite childhood foods. Singapore, where I had the rare opportunity to visit, only to probably waste it all over again.

And then I remembered what my dad told my mom, about how it was soon just going to be me in Singapore. I realized that at some point, I needed to stop blaming my parents and take full responsibility for myself. All this time, I’d been wanting to recover for something else other than my own sake.

I’d tried recovering for college. That didn’t work.
I’d tried recovering for my parents. That didn’t work.
I’d tried not recovering at all. That could have killed me, but God didn’t let that happen.
I’d tried recovering so I can go on this trip. Until now it’s been horrible, but maybe…I can actually change something right now.

And then my brain automatically went: Okay, so long as I don’t eat white rice, sugar, x, y and z…And then I started devising plans and methods to recover again, under my (aka ED’s) terms.

Thankfully, at that time my rationale kicked over and it just screamed: STOP!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!

No plans. No strategies. No compromises.

The moment I started planning something, I knew I was setting myself up for failure. Because life just doesn’t work that way. I can plan all I want, but there’s always going to be several curveballs headed my way, and because I had made my own plans, the minute I can’t execute them, I get freaked out and that’s when ED overcomes the entire process of my brain.

It was something I had always known all along, but it was a truth that I had buried underneath all the ED protocol in my consciousness because the thought of having no plans was scary and inconvenient. But that was one of the rare moments when I suddenly got the urge to unravel that truth and follow it. Actually, I had to. I had wanted to go back to Singapore so much. I had wasted this trip the last time; I was not about to waste it again.

And then I thought of all those years wasted pretending to be in recovery. I thought of the brief moment of solitude I had when I moved out from my parents’ house, and how I allowed ED to just ravage me. I thought of Ted, and how he was being deceived by an evil force, a similar kind that had been controlling me for so long. This was not going to happen again. God had given me so many experiences and revelations to this point. It was now time to open my eyes, and use those experiences to carve out a new direction in my recovery.

My dad said I needed to start taking responsibility for myself. And I knew what he meant.

I got down to my knees, and I prayed. Not a “Oh Lord save me” kind of prayer, but a “Here Lord, these are my prayer topics” kind of prayer. It was me, seeing where God wanted to take me and telling him I was willing, and then actually make the steps to walk down that path.

And then I realized: This trip wasn’t going to be fun. But dang it, it was going to be exciting.

Questions to Ponder:

1) Traveling. Do you have trouble with it?

2) Parents. Have you ever felt like everything you did during your recovery is just to please them? When did you start taking responsibility for yourself?

3) What kind of plans do you think is helpful during ED recovery? What kind of plans do you think is not helpful?

Related posts:

1. Weekend ED Series: The 5 Holes
2. Weekend ED Series: Hate, Loss and Blame
3. ED Weekend Series: The Black Swan
4. Weekend ED Series: The Prodigal Daughter
5. Weekend ED Series: A Letter

Tagged as: eating disorders, Korea