Finding Strength Part I: Story about Eating Disorders and Substance Abuse in Marriage, Losing a Loved One

by Anonymous

Before explaining her marriage story, this author shares her struggle with anorexia. Personal stories like these can help women suffering with an eating disorder understand they are not alone. Eating disorders can also affect long-term relationships.

This author also shares her substance abuse and depression story, which occurred shortly after losing one of the most important people in her life. All of this information is necessary to understand her unique marriage (explained in Part 2).

Every little girl grows up fantasizing about finding a handsome man who will sweep her off her feet. And that together they will build a beautiful life and live happily ever after. I’m almost 26 years old. I’ve been married for 6 years this week, and I’ll admit that sometimes I still fantasize about this happening for me.

         As with most marriages, the foundation of my marriage began in the few years that led up to the day that I met my husband. The first part of my story will be about the trials of my upbringing so you can better understand the hurdles in my marriage.

I grew up in a small Alaskan town that is completely landlocked. On one side of the town there is a sign that says “end of road” followed by miles of ice fields. On the other side of the town there is water as far as the eye can see that eventually empties out into the open Pacific Ocean. Growing up in Alaska was incredible.

I lived year-round in a place that most people dream of traveling to. The beauty of the untouched wilderness is hard to describe. I spent my childhood swimming in glacier lakes, whale watching from my backyard, and enjoying bonfires under the Aurora Borealis light shows. I have so many fond memories.

However, there’s a dark side of Alaska that many tourists never see. It’s a state with many small towns that are crippled year after year with devastating tragedies of lives lost too young. The main culprits behind these premature deaths is always some combination of depression, drug abuse, or alcohol abuse.

         Unfortunately, the town I grew up in was no exception. During my high school years, I lost a handful of friends who I cared deeply about. I had been struggling through a battle with a vicious eating disorder for many years already.

The added stress and grief that came with my first devastating losses became too much for me to handle. I became entrenched in the partying lifestyle as a way to escape the pain I was feeling. By age 16 I was an addict with a life-threatening eating disorder. At my lowest point, I weighed less than 90 pounds and could hardly stand on my own without support.
        

As hard as my family and medical team tried, I was not interested in recovery and had many relapses. It was heartbreaking for everyone in my life. Nobody expected me to live past high school, including myself.

My parents eventually became desperate to help me heal. They took out a second mortgage to pay for my treatment. They sent me away multiple times during my junior and senior years of high school. Luckily, during my final stay in treatment, something clicked, and I decided that I wanted to dedicate myself to recovery and create a good life for myself.

I was released from treatment a week after my 18th birthday. I knew I still had a long road ahead of me, but I was excited to go back to Alaska and start laying the foundation for my adult life. For the first time, I was dreaming of the future.

I enrolled in college, moved into the freshman dorms, and completed an entire semester without any major hiccups or relapses. I was working on the side and maintaining decent grades. It felt like it was too good to be true.

         On December 12th, 2012 I walked out of my last final exam of the semester. I felt happy and confident. I hurried back to my dorm to change into comfy clothes and took a quick nap.

When I woke up a short time later, I noticed that I had five missed calls from my father. This was surprising to me because we do not have a close relationship.  He is not the type of parent to call me multiple times. I knew instantly that something was wrong. I called him back and he told me I needed to get over to his house as soon as possible and wouldn’t answer any of my questions on the phone.
        

When I arrived at my parents’ house, my dad sat me down and explained that my best friend Maddie had passed away the previous night. He was very careful about how he broke the news to me because he knew I was still vulnerable in my recovery and how much this friend meant to me. 

She had been away at culinary school in California for the past semester but had recently decided to move home. She was scheduled to be flying home the following week and we had plans to get our own apartment together when she returned. She was the type of friend who became part of my family and called my parents “mom” and “dad”.

She let herself into our house without knocking or calling beforehand and even fought with my siblings like they were her own. This loss not only hurt me, but it left a giant hole in our entire family. She was someone we all took for granted, because it never crossed anyone’s minds that she wouldn’t be there forever.

         Words cannot describe the pain that this loss caused. Within one week I had entered a full-blown relapse. I did everything I could to hold it together in front of my family in the days between her death and her funeral. After I spoke at her funeral service, I hit rock bottom and ended up making massive life-altering mistakes.

         Following the news of her death, I was desperate to find someone who could relate to my pain and help me escape it. I ended up finding comfort in Maddie’s on-again off-again boyfriend, Nathan. This was single-handedly the worst mistake of my life.

I was 18 and fragile. He was 30 with raging alcoholism. We spent our days drinking until we passed out, just to repeat that cycle the next morning. He found comfort in me because I reminded him of Maddie. I found comfort in him because he was as dysfunctional as I was and enabled me to drink my life away.

         In February 2013 I woke up panting and covered in sweat. I had just experienced a violent vivid dream. Maddie was in my dream screaming at me from the top of her lungs. She grabbed me by the hair and was slamming my head against the floor yelling “GET OUT! GET OUT OR YOU WILL DIE!”

I had never experienced anything like this dream, but I believe this dream saved my life. Whether it was my subconscious using Maddie as the sign that I needed, or whether Maddie was truly visiting me, it was the motivation I needed to break free from the lifestyle I was becoming a slave to.

         I called my parents to beg for their help. They couldn’t afford to send me to treatment again but agreed that I needed to get out of Juneau if I was going to survive this relapse. I used the last of my money on a one-way ticket to Las Vegas, NV.

I then took a shuttle ride from Las Vegas to Utah where a few of my extended family members lived. I chose Utah because that’s where I was treated. The staff members of my treatment center had been so kind. I had no money, no car, no friends, and no plan.

In part two of my story, I’ll talk about running away from my problems, meeting my husband, our unique elopement, and what came next.