The Wake Up Call
For seven years I struggled with anorexia and bulimia, constantly paralyzed by depression and anxiety. Multiple inpatient and outpatient stays at hospitals and programs did not stop the obsessive thoughts, self-hate, and quest for perfection. Being raised in a very holistic household, I had always been anti-medication. I should be able to do this on my own, I told myself. Still, I tried many antidepressants over the years, none helpful.
My therapist of almost two years saw we were getting nowhere, suggesting a psychiatrist who was “the best.” Begrudgingly, I drove over an hour up the parkway, not very eager to have someone new analyze how messed up I was. He started me on a bipolar medication and Klonopin to ease my decade of insomnia. Later he told me I could take it as needed for anxiety, filling the benzo bottle up with ninety pills.
I’ll never forget the first day at work taking them “as needed.” A few hours into my ten-hour shift, the racing thoughts crept in and a knot formed in the pit of my stomach. My eyes flashed to the bathroom door; my go to. Sure it would make me feel like shit later, but I knew right now it would stop the world from crushing me.
My fingers reached for my “stress sand” in my pocket, instead closing on a tiny pill pouch. It was worth a try.
I popped two pills into my mouth and went about my business, begging the uncomfortable sensations to cease. I still felt like I was going to explode. Slipping into the bathroom, I took three more pills. In a short while, a warm familiar numbness enveloped me. Ahh.
Before I knew it, I was taking 30 pills, turning into a word-slurring zombie. I was messed up, but I wasn’t feeling. It was fantastic. The benzos took care of the beautiful numbing portion of binging and purging, but what about the rush?
Floating through life with hopelessness, I started snorting coke. It was great; do a few lines and my hunger disappeared. Get too paranoid and shaky; take a handful of Klonopin or some Xanax. The psychiatrist seemed oblivious to my abuse and all or nothing personality, easy manipulated into giving me more drugs.
Suddenly I was someone unrecognizable. I spent all my money on drugs and alcohol, withdrawing from everything. Each night, I barely remembered what I’d done the night before, where I’d been, and who with. On top of it, I continued sticking my finger down my throat. But hey, I wasn’t gaining weight and I was numb. That’s all that mattered.
Until I got a wake up call.
My father and step-mom came to visit me at work one night, staying late and walking me the ten minutes or so to my car. When I saw my ex-boyfriend, one of the few sober people who knew about my drug use, my stomach dropped. Damn. I knew something was wrong.
They had booked a flight and arranged for me to go to rehab. The rest of the night was a blur of yelling, crying, and chain-smoking cigarettes. I screamed at my dad that I didn’t need to go while my step-mom went through my car, throwing my lifting chalk (used in weight lifting) into the driveway and asking if it was coke. When my dad teared up, afraid that I would die, I agreed to go “look at it.” I wasn’t happy; what did I have to lose?
Soon I was on a plane, dozing into a benzo-induced slumber. I landed in Louisiana dazed, my ex-boyfriend guiding me through the airport and into the car. Stepping onto Narconon grounds, I was exhausted. After a few hours of talking to everyone, more tears, (me being the stubborn individual I am). Finally I surrendered. I stayed, and I worked my ass off.
“Narconon taught me I was not a victim. I was in control of my actions and feelings. The animal-loving writer and power lifter with hope and ambition was still there, I just had to work through all the garbage that had caved in on top and buried her.”
Narconon taught me I was not a victim. I was in control of my actions and feelings. The animal-loving writer and power lifter with hope and ambition was still there, I just had to work through all the garbage that had caved in on top and buried her.
Addiction hopping is difficult. No reckless, life-threatening behavior is better than another. There is hope; you don’t have to be a slave to the negative thoughts.
Not only am I sober, but Narconon did what “no eating disorder specific” program could. It put me on the path to freedom, and now I am on the longest “clean” record since I first began using my eating disorder. It takes a lot of work, but you can break the chains to any addiction. The program is what you make of it; you control your recovery, you control your destiny.
I am extremely fortunate I received help from Narconon following that wake up call nine months ago. I know many others receive wake up calls in the form of overdoses where they almost die but don't, evictions resulting in homelessness, or the loss of a job with resulting poverty and or crime, yet they don't recognize it for the caution light, forewarning or the red flag it is.
Written by L.K.
