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Why loving support is essential to recovery

Posted Aug 26 2008 4:05pm
This is something I've alluded to in many of my posts, but I've never actually talked about in depth. Those who support me, and who love me, in spite of my illnesses.



First of all, my mom. If it weren't for her, I'd be dead by now. And it really pisses me off that the so -called "professionals" didn't trust her instincts when she wanted to bring me home from my internship halfway across the country. Part of it was that Ed was talking and I was over 21, but that IP was suggested before anything else. I needed IP at that point for medical and psychiatric reasons, anyway, but that her concerns were brushed off. That seriously pisses me off. Is she a perfect mom? No, but then no one really is. Do we have issues? A few, but again, any two people will in any relationship they cultivate. And the fact that she has backed me up against the ED, separated me from it, loved me and hated the disease, never once blamed me...that has made all the difference in the world.



Secondly, friends who have provided unconditional support. One, my dear friend E who I met in treatment, has been there just by swapping emails about trivial daily life issues and doing virtual book swaps. She's a reader like me, and knowing that someone else can read and write and enjoy science made me feel much less out of place. My other friend E who sat with me over many cups of tea as we discussed our spiritual doubts and other philosophical endeavors. Other friends who have met me for coffee (apparently, beverages play a large role in my recovery. Who knew?), listened to me cry, and even allowed ME to support THEM.



Thirdly, my treatment team. My dietitian who sees through my bullshit, who works with me where I'm at, and never gives up on me. Who believes I can make it through. My psychiatrist who said my most important medication was food, and did more tweaking with my meds than I thought possible. He never forgets to reassure me that I am suffering from brain diseases, that these are not my fault, nor anyone else's. Who I can talk to about tampons and not feel embarrassed. Lastly, my current therapist, who has just the right amount of faith in me, who believes in me, that I can succeed, and that I can reach out for support when I am stepping onto dangerous ground. Who doesn't proceed to drag up the past for our hour of therapy but instead provides me tools to learn to cope with anxiety, depression, mood swings, life. Who reassures me that these are skills that will allow me to retain the better parts of my personality while tempering the parts that make me self-destruct.



This loving, unwavering support.



That's what allowed me to get through the hell of the AN and get to the point where I am today. Who said you're too important to me to let you starve to death, who said that eating will suck, but the alternative will suck worse, so you need to eat. Who said I love you, I love you, I love you, and oh did I mention? I love you.



And to them I say: I love you too.
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