Finding Me

By Jennifer Preteroti

Do you find yourself asking, "who am I" or look at where you are in your life and think, "how did I get here?" Th ese are questions all of us can relate to at one time or another. There exists in us an innate desire to belong, to answer the question of identity and purpose. In her book, "Finding Me", the author details some of the personal strug

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Dec 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638379119

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE LONG DRIVE

I

remember my Mom telling me the story of the day she knew something had to be done, something radical and immediate. I was coming home from my usual brutal gym workout when my Mom met me at the end of our road in her car. It was a warm June day in 1994. We met at the stop sign in our respective vehicles. My Mom has since told me her perspective on that day. Even as she tells it today, you can see the worried, helpless look on her face that still conveys a deep sense of helplessness. She states how awful I looked, very emaciated, grayish green in color and weary. She knew at that time, something had to give. She had to take drastic measures to intervene on my behalf. She made an appointment for me to go see a Psychiatrist in Pittsburgh, PA the next week. As she mustered up the strength to tell me, I could sense something was coming. Something I knew I was not going to like whatsoever. She broke the news to me and after a lengthy yelling match from me, I agreed to go. We made the long drive from our home, much of which was in silence, as I was both terrified and angry by the whole situation. I was fine. I didn’t need any help, at least that was what I thought but down deep in my heart, I knew I was totally out of control and on some level I knew this had to be done but I still didn’t like it. Once we arrived, we walked to the doctor's office, sat down, and began going over my life and current physical condition. It felt like an eternity to me but truly it had only been a few minutes when the doctor gave me the news. I had to be a direct admit into the inpatient unit at St. Francis Hospital in Pittsburgh, PA. If not, chances were, I would not survive.

No! I screamed, I’m not going! I’m okay! That was over twenty-five years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, barely standing, frail and sick as I was, on 36th street in Pittsburgh, PA. My mom was with me and she was trying to comfort me and make my current problems better as all moms try to do. I screamed at her, blamed her for putting me in this position of having to be admitted to the hospital, and felt so betrayed; it was one of those moments in life where you just felt so alone. Like no one cared and the very person you thought truly loved you was causing you the pain of feeling abandoned. At least that was what I thought at the time. Looking back now, I know she did really love me, because if she hadn’t taken me to see the Psychiatrist that day, I probably wouldn’t be writing this book. I used to look at my struggles from just my perspective but now I can begin to see just how difficult my personal struggles also had to be for her and my Dad. It saddens me that I caused them so much pain and worry. By now you are probably wondering what exactly happened. Well, you see that was one of the worst, although there were several, days that my struggle with anorexia stole from me, sucked the joy out of my soul, and left me feeling beaten and battered. I was immediately admitted to St. Francis Hospital in Pittsburgh, PA as my body was failing and the doctor realized allowing me to go home that day would certainly result in my demise.

I had been battling this disease for quite some time by this point and had also gone to regular weekly meetings with a psychologist to get it under control but with no lasting progress. As I continued to spiral downhill into this disease, my body become more and more physically ill and my parents realized something else had to be done. We had merely gone up for a consultation with the psychiatrist that day; however, something about that long, silent drive told me I wouldn’t be coming home that day. I was correct. I had already been battling this disease for quite some time and nothing was helping. Not the previous weekly meetings with a psychologist or attempting to put on enough weight to appease my family and doctors., At that time my mindset was not to stop my wreckless behaviors so I would take the necessary steps to enable them to persist. As you struggle with the disease long enough, you become very skilled in providing an illusion of progress to others to allow the disease to persist. You learn how to ‘beat the system’ by manipulating others in order to allow the disease to survive. It becomes almost like a game to see if you can outwit everyone in order to remain in the prison. What a contradiction. The very thing you do keeps you a prisoner and you feel like it's an accomplishment to remain in it. You don’t feed yourself but you make sure to feed it. You become very protective over your diagnosis as it has not only consumed your life and thoughts, it has also become your identity. You fight endlessly to protect it even though at certain periods you realize exactly how dangerous it is.

After realizing that I would surely be admitted that day, they took me inside the hospital which, at that time provided specialty care in psychiatric and eating disorders in particular, and told me and my Mom what the process was. I was to be admitted without contact for at least a week from any outside family or friends. The thought of being in an unknown environment, changing my entire routine, having no friends or family members there to comfort me and trying to confront my disease instead of befriend it was devastating. I was terrified. Which again, was such a contradiction in terms, because even when I was at home I would isolate myself from the family most of the time, very rarely leave my room and tended to be a loner of sorts. After finally completing all of the necessary paperwork, they took me to my room. My mom came in with me to say goodbye and it was such a conflicting feeling. I was so mad at her yet I didn’t want her to leave. After many tears from both of us, I watched her walk out of the room, down the hallway, and out the entrance door. There I was, by myself, not knowing what the future would hold or how I would survive this and, more importantly, how I would allow my disease to survive. Again, this disease is such an inward battle. So conflicting as like a kind of tug of war in your mind. I often preferred isolation at home and from others and when I was finally alone that day in my room, I longed for home. For my family and friends. The silence was deafening and it forced me to realize that I needed to deal with trying to discover the underlying issues as to why this disease had permeated my entire life and become my identity.

I was so physically ill that I was not allowed even to walk around in the facility as I was severely anemic and my heart would just not take any more physical exertion, so I had to be wheeled throughout the unit in a wheelchair. I had been so used to pushing my physical limitations through exercise that the mere thought of being prohibited to even walk terrified me. Exercise was quite a contradiction regarding control. On one hand, I felt forced to exercise to enable myself to be rewarded with food as my body was starving, yet at the same time, I was able to somewhat push against the disease itself in that despite my frail physique, my strong will enabled me to do physically what most people couldn’t even do in a healthy body. That constant feeling of contradiction became a very underlying theme in the course of the disease. I often felt as if I was in control but I most definitely was not. Even though I tended to protect my disease, I hated it. I hated the control it had over my life so one way I felt in control of my disease was through exercise. It eased my mind and allowed me to feel able to eat something that day. I think much of the general population has the viewpoint that people suffering from anorexia just don’t want to eat. Not so, at least in my case. We tend to be obsessed with food. The smell, the texture, thinking about it night and day because we are so physically and spiritually, as I would discover later, malnourished. Exercise gave me a reason to allow myself to eat. It was the absolute number one priority of my day. Had to get to the gym. No matter what. Being sick, tired, weak, starving, bad weather, nothing stopped me. I went religiously every day just for a few morsels of food.

Now, I was not even allowed to walk let alone exercise. I had to eat a specific meal plan to help me gain weight, the mere thought of which put me in a panic of trying to immediately come up with a mental strategy to preserve the disease in the midst of having to make improvements, and I had to attend daily group meetings to discuss my feelings. It was a very long first night. A lot of crying and uncertainty regarding what was in store for me both in the hospital and once I was discharged. I started meeting some of the other patients the following day. It's so difficult to see others suffering from the same disease. I remember looking at them and thinking oh my goodness, you are so sick and skinny and realizing how ill they were, yet at the same time wanting to compare and compete with them to see which of us was the ‘winner’ of being the skinniest. That is how very warped your mind becomes. Meal times was like an awkward first date. You sat in front of your food tray and really didn’t know what to do or say. You were extremely nervous but realized there was no getting out of that room until everything was eaten. At first, it was very difficult to try to eat, not just mentally but physically because your stomach is just not equipped at handling food. When you are so malnourished, taking those first few bites of food feels like a rush of energy to your system; I guess almost like a ‘high’ that drug addicts might experience. You feel alive again physically. It's a weird feeling when you are so used to feeling nothing. I had been walking around feeling nothing for quite some time. I really didn’t even understand at that time what I was feeling inside. I was unable to express verbally what I needed to somehow fill in the gaps of insecurity and uncertainty at that age. I used my dysfunctional behaviors to communicate my sense of need. I needed desperately to let me parents know how much I desired more affection and affirmation but I couldn’t bring myself to verbally express it so instead I used my disease to draw the attention that I longed for but had been unable to communicate properly at the time. Even today, how many people are just walking through this life feeling nothing? Feeling requires a level of vulnerability and that can be terrifying to us at times. It's easier to just walk through this life on ‘cruise control’ so no real thought or feeling has to enter our minds. We just become so robotic in our day to day passing and dealing with others that we lose our sense of empathy towards one another. It's difficult to express our needs as humans as this makes us feel so vulnerable and requires a level of humility that illustrates the fact that we aren’t invincible. We need one another. So instead of doing this in a healthy manner, we gravitate to using other forms of dysfunctional behaviors that, in a roundabout manner, get the attention that we are craving.

The days began to pass and I found the meetings to be somewhat helpful as to start to uncover what exactly triggers me to behave like this. We were required to complete some ‘homework’ if you will to explore some of our inner feelings through journaling. I did find this rather helpful yet mentally draining as I was never focused on much else outside of keeping my disease alive. I had never really tried to focus on getting better. Maybe because I was so used to living that way or because I didn’t know who I could be if I was well. During that time, I met some amazing nurses and looking back, I think they were truly angels sent from God. They provided a comfort to me that I needed so desperately. I became quite close to them and I think they ‘adopted’ me into their family on some level. What a true blessing they were. I am forever grateful to them and the love they showed me at that time.

After a week's time, I was finally allowed to contact my family. It was different. When you are actually meeting some of your basic human needs like eating, it boosts your mental state and does provide a different perspective. It was so good to hear their voices again. I missed them desperately. I kept thinking to myself, this time, it's going to be better. I’m finally going to be free from this nightmare and live a normal life. I was allowed to go on a ‘day pass’ with my family for lunch. It was tough because you are a little more used to eating ‘normally’ by that time because of the structure of the treatment but you are scared to look normal to the ones who know you best. It's not who you are. You are the girl that doesn’t eat and trying to break that thought pattern was so difficult, since, as I have mentioned before, the disease isn’t