Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook have read updates on my quest to transition to full-time freelance science writing. The major hindrance to going full-time is health insurance. My eating disorder (and accompanying medical issues, such as osteoporosis, epilepsy, a herniated disc in my back, GI issues, etc) would all be considered "pre-existing conditions" and thus not eligible for coverage. Hence my almost too ironic job at the bakery: a group plan under an employer would render me eligible for coverage, even of my pre-existing conditions (after a 6 month waiting period). This fact also tethers me to having some sort of full-time-ish job, which is rather irritating for someone who wants to spend their time freelancing and not slinging bread, wrangling pies, and frosting cupcakes.

Thankfully, my parents have a fantastic insurance agent whose office is right across the street from the bakery and I talked to him about what the possibilities were for me. Presciently enough, on July 1, Virginia adopted the federal high-risk pool insurance program for people with pre-existing conditions that were otherwise uninsurable. The key is that your pre-existing condition cannot be covered under a policy for 6 months. What we came up with was a short-term medical plan that would not cover my pre-existing conditions and a special hospital income protection policy if something catastrophic happened. At the end of those 6 months, I would go into the federal high-risk pool. Since mental health parity also took effect on July 1, I should--fingers crossed--be okay.

What shook me, however, was the agent's comment that without Virginia's adoption of the high-risk pool, I would be uninsurable. That would mean my dreams of freelance science writing were essentially dead in the water. My eating disorder had effectively rendered me untouchable.

That's what breaks my heart: that some bureaucrat somewhere could so quickly and efficiently kill my dream because I have an eating disorder. I realize that paying out more in benefits than you take in with premiums isn't a good business model. I get that. I also get that eating disorders aren't cheap to treat. But to have an eating disorder diagnosis render me unable to get a health insurance policy for the rest of my life? It's depressing.

I feel like I have worked so hard in recovery to try and bring back a semblance of normality and health to my life. Many of my hopes are pinned to the wish that, one day, the spectre of my eating disorder will no longer haunt my every move. Finding health insurance is a stark reminder that some people never forget. I know some of my family members have been unable to forgive me for getting ill, and I had attributed that to human emotionality and fear and frustration. But this cold, calculated move makes me wonder if I'm permanently broken. If a whole, healthy me will ever emerge from the wreckage of anorexia.

I don't want to dwell on this, as I know insurance companies know precisely diddly squat about life. They were, after all, the ones who denied almost all my claims relating to the eating disorder, when I was sick enough that even I knew I would die without immediate treatment.

Although I have some issues with the health care reform bill that finally passed through Congress earlier this year, it has allowed me the chance to live my dream, and for that, I am grateful.

I was checking out the plates on FEAST's 2010 Plate Drive (there's still time to create a plate if you haven't yet!) and I got the shock of my life: someone had dedicated a plate to me!

You can check it out by clicking on the Plate Drive link, and it's the fourth row down on the very left.

Whoever you are, you made me cry--in a good way. I am beyond touched. This blog means so much to me, and to have the outside acknowledgement (completely unsolicited!) that it means a lot to others is tremendously touching.

Thank you!

I'm lucky- I'm related to some pretty cool people (Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Hi, Aria!). I'm also related to some douchebags, but let's focus on the positives, shall we? But I'm also lucky because I have some pretty awesome friends in my life, friends who I will miss dearly when I am back in Michigan. Friends who I didn't know before I moved to the area and now can't imagine my life without.

Today, I said a temporary farewell to my good friend L and also Laura Collins, who met my mom and I for lattes at Borders. Both L and Laura came bearing gifts, because they're cool like that. L made me a set of door hangers, two of which I've shown here:


My mom said we may as well hang the Aria one on the front door since the fuzzmuffin runs the entire house. 'Tis true.

Laura bought my mom and I some kids' books to inspire us during refeeding, and her and her family (Olympia and her son Elijah who knows me solely as Aria's mommy- the cat approves) made me my very own magic plate!


How cool is that? The lighting isn't the greatest but I didn't have time to fuss with my camera settings and my photo editor.

I'm really going to miss my two L friends. Getting back to them and the shreds of a life I had been building before the AN--that house of cards called "recovery"--came crashing down on me is one of my goals at this point.

I'm sitting here at work, just crying. Tears of utter gratitude and love. I can't believe the support I'm getting right now. It's just...amazing.

If nothing else, this is what is so different about every other time I've struggled and fallen. Before, I kept it to myself. I lied. I concealed. I avoided everyone and everything who might figure it out. I was supposed to be Carrie the Recovery Girl. How could a two-time ED book author relapse?

Um, the same way as anyone else.

Though there is still embarrassment and shame, it is SO MUCH LESS now that everything is out in the open, and now that I realized the only one who ever thought I could never relapse or struggle EVER was, you know, me. I was putting my internal BS on all of you, and it is unbelievably gratifying to know that this was a figment of my imagination.

Relapse is a grim reality for eating disorders. Not inevitable, and not something I think should make you quiver with fear at all hours, but it's always possible. This is the nature of the illness. I've wasted enough time feeling sorry for myself and heaping on all the spoonfuls of self-hatred that I'm really going to try and stop at this point.

Thank you. It feels so trite and cliche, but seriously, thank you ALL.

I am super stoked to find out that all of you have voted me one of the Top 100 Health Blogs! In fact, your efforts put me in the Top 50.

Thanks to all who voted, and a special heads up to my mom who made the effort to vote early and vote often. :)

I am really touched and honored that ya'll took the time and effort to do this.

I was out of internet contact for the last few days and didn't get to wish everyone a Happy Mother's Day.

First of is my mom, who literally kept me alive the past 8+ years of the anorexia insanity. She never gave up, even when I had, and so did many treatment professionals. "Carrie is chronic," they said. To them, chronic anorexia means hopeless. Not to my mom. She didn't think it was weird to have her 26-year-old daughter move back home (with her kittycat!) into her childhood bedroom and be totally dependent on her parents once again. And then to take all of the late night hysterical sobbing phone calls from the now 27-year-old daughter after she moves out.

Mom, seriously- you saved my life. "Thanks" is so hollow compared to what I really mean, but "thanks" will have to do.

Next up are all of the other moms in my life. The phrase "It takes a village" has become kind of ridiculously cliche, but it's SO TRUE. You have all taught me so much about how to be a person, not just an anorexic. So a little shout-out to:

Laura
Harriet
Jane
Mary
Marcella
Irishup
Tracey
Stephanie

I am honored to know you all.

So Laura beat me to the summary of our day together by a long shot. This is not to say (I hope) that my mom and I enjoyed it any less than Laura.

I got to meet the whole Collins clan: Laura's husband (Samuel), her son (Elijah), and their two (enthusiastic) dogs. And, I even got to see the famous dinner table, around which Laura hosts her internet forum for parents.

I think the table at the Collins' house is quite the metaphor. It's an old wood table, worn but sturdy. It's like a lot of families: not perfect, not necessarily a work of art, but capable of bringing people together. The table at my parents house when I grew up, they got as kind of a cast off, either at an auction or it was dumped by the side of the road*. My dad painted it yellow to hide all of the dings and scratches. The chairs were all slightly different heights. Not a perfect table, and certainly not a perfect family.

But that's the beauty of it, and the beauty of the Maudsley Approach, which gave me my life back.

Thank you, Laura and family, for helping with that. And your bread is fantastic!

*This should answer the question of where I got my Salvation-Army-chic decorating sense.

Feelings of gratitude aren't usually something I suffer from. Every now and then, however, I start to suffer.

I realized, as I called up one of my classmates to whine about boredom (or rather, my increasing desire to do something, anything besides classwork), and then suggest going out for dinner, that this never would have happened a year ago.

For starters, I didn't really have a friend that I could randomly call up. Sad, but true. Ed was my only friend.

Secondly, going out to dinner was tantamount to torture. The dentist was about as fun. I had no idea what I was eating, no way to count the calories and fat grams. This was not allowed. It was simply more trouble than it was worth.

Lastly, I never allowed myself to get bored. It just wasn't going to happen. There was always something I had to be doing. Period, end of story.

I.
had.
to.
stay.
busy.

In the scheme of things, I'm far busier now than I was before. I do have to use good time management skills. I don't have much in the way of free time. It's reality. But I do try to work in "me" time and fun stuff. It helps that I enjoy my classes more, so my "busy time" isn't quite as onerous. I can also technically classify much of my fun reading as schoolwork (that is, checking out the competition), which helps mentally.

I'm probably still far too uptight for my own good, but the system I have is at least tolerable. I try to get 8 hours of sleep a night- a revolutionary concept. In undergrad, I would habitually deprive myself of sleep because I had all of this psych studying rituals and I thought that sleeping more than 5 hours a night made me lazy. It also made me completely nutso.

I could say all of these grand, sweeping things about recovery: that it's enabling me to pursue my dream (it is) or travel to a foreign country for 3 weeks this winter (ditto), but right now, I'm grateful for recovery because I could enjoy a lovely dinner out with a friend.

Though I've been pissing and moaning about my life a lot lately, I'm realizing that things could be worse.

And that, at the end of the day, I'm still here. I still have a new chance tomorrow. And I understand that life isn't perfect, nor was it meant to be perfect, and I can deal with that. I have the total freedom not to like it, but I can deal with it.

I have my recovery. Today, I will nourish my body and allow it to rest and heal and relish in the simple joys of being alive. I will not give Ed the time of day. I will hold on and let go and just let myself be.

And if nothing else happens, that is enough.