Ground zero

It's funny. Each time I start this entry, I want to tell you about the thought patterns and habits you can use to beat binge eating disorder, and each time, I find myself writing about the day everything changed for me -- the day I decided I would get better. Rather than discard tens of versions of the story, I've written you the lightest account of it that I can, hoping that you'll find comfort and encouragement in its lines.

It was spring 2003. I was working on a Master's thesis in French language and literature. I was in over my head -- if I told you what I'd set out to do, you'd start laughing, and with good reason, at the sheer ridiculousness of the project -- and therefore not making much headway. My eating habits were appalling: I alternated between eating next to nothing for as long as I could, watching desperately for any sign of weight loss, and scarfing down more food than I care to remember.

I looked awful. I felt awful. And my once-shining academic star was fading. I didn't want to leave my apartment. I didn't want to run or bike or swim. I couldn't bear to buy new clothes. One day, the only pants I could find to wear were my once ginormous (though otherwise very nice) turquoise-and-plum plaid flannel pajama bottoms!

At night, I lay in bed and pinched the rolls of fat that encased me, willing them away. Somewhere underneath all that unwanted flesh was the athletic girl who'd swum an hour and a half a day and could run cross-country races without any training other than pool workouts and Sunday morning runs with Dad. How I missed her!

One night after a particularly cringe-worthy binge, I awoke bathed in sweat. I couldn't seem to cool off. My heart was racing. My insides felt like they were about to burst. It was the absolute worst I'd ever felt in body and mind, and I wondered whether I'd need to go to emergency. But I didn't want to. Anything but having to own up to what I'd been doing to turn myself into such a wreck. At that moment, I knew with absolute clarity that I would either die or change. And I didn't want to die. I had simultaneously hit rock bottom and found my ground zero.

Today, it's a sunny December Saturday in Vancouver. I'm writing to you from the other side of BED, a healthy, happy woman who spends hours in her kitchen and keeps ice cream in her fridge and chocolate in her pantry. This afternoon, my girlfriends and I are going to bake Christmas cookies, and I'm not even slightly worried about being left to my own devices with a small army of delicious cookies. I know they'll be safe.

If I can do it, then so can you. Be of good cheer.