Ross, one of Insook’s patients, shares some thoughts about his experience with developing and recovering from an eating disorder:
Words to Inspire
by Ross F.
Regardless of what side of the spectrum those who suffer from eating disorders fall on, the battle to get better is truly epic. Many of those who are lucky enough to find, afford, and receive quality treatment do not always make it out alive. With eating disorders becoming as mainstream as low-rider jeans or The O.C., the people who have devoted their lives to curing this epidemic seem to be fighting a losing battle
It has become the crusade of the twenty first century to eradicate eating disorders, in all of its forms, and it could not have come at a more crucial time. Both sides of the “eating disorder spectrum” have been swarmed with and it seems as if anorexia has become socially acceptable. Our culture is infatuated by those who live lives the general population can only dream about and it is feeding the fires of this growing epidemic.
I, personally, have spent more than half my life not only consumed by anorexia and bulimia, but hiding it from my family and friends. My eating disorder was born from chaos. My life, it seemed was presented to me and enforced for my own good. When you live a life that is not yours, control becomes the focal point of your existence. That was my curse, control. In a world I didn’t belong, in a life I did not choose, the only thing I could control was what I put, or in this case, what I didn’t put in my mouth.
It started innocently enough, a way to get back at the one who ruled my life with an iron fist, however, it began to consume every aspect of my early life. A year or so in, I started believing that I didn’t deserve food, that if I wasn’t who everyone thought I should be, I stumbled, if I found life to be difficult, I was something less than human. These thoughts, these feelings might not be uncommon to an eleven year old, but my desperation grew exponentially until my depression peaked at thirteen.
There was no where else to go. I found myself carefully compiling my final thoughts on this earth, apologizing to those I had failed, wishing my peers luck, praying and hoping that there was some other way, but at that age, options are few and far between. And as I sat on the foot of my bed with a .357 magnum in my hand, tears pouring from my eyes, I knew this would be the tragedy of Ross Edward Farley III.
My only saving grace was the thought of leaving my mother and my sister to grieve, and the guilt I felt for the potential mess I was about to make for my father to clean up. I put the gun back where it belonged, and spent six more years tormented by my disease.
I have been in treatment for two years with one of the most brilliant nutritionists I have ever met. She has truly saved my life, and I will never be able to thank her enough for taking my case, no matter how risky it was.
To those who continue to suffer, please do not give up hope. Life is precious. Every pound I gain is the most I’ve ever weighed, and I couldn’t be happier.