Touched Back to Life
Foreword
Eating disorders are frequently misunderstood. Adolescents and young adults affected by disorders such as anorexia nervosa or bulimia nervosa may struggle with self-critical thoughts and engage in potentially dangerous behaviors, without recognizing that they are living with classic symptoms of a serious psychiatric illness.
Danielle Sherman-Lazar’s Living FULL is an honest description of one woman’s battle with an eating disorder. Danielle describes the anxieties and obsessions that may have made her vulnerable to developing the pattern of food restriction and disordered eating behaviors that characterized her eating disorder, and the turning points that allowed her to achieve her recovery.
Her words are moving and authentic and reflect the loneliness of living under the cloud of illness and the liberation that comes with recognizing that eating disorders are treatable and that life without illness is possible.
As Danielle explains, eating disorders are brain-based disorders that are associated with serious medical and psychological disturbances. She sheds light on the importance of effective treatments, and the support systems, including family, that may be needed to achieve successful outcomes.
As a psychiatrist who has specialized for nearly thirty years in care for individuals with eating disorders and the study of the mechanisms underlying these conditions, I feel privileged to have played a small part in this tale of one person’s recovery. I am aware of how difficult it is to reveal the many thoughts, doubts, and secrets that contribute to the development of an eating disorder. Readers will likely find parts of themselves in Danielle’s tale, and find themselves inspired by her story of strength and resilience.
Evelyn Attia, MD
December 2017
Part One
Empty
Chapter 1
The Little Engine That Couldn’t
I woke up to a crowd of kids and counselors surrounding me, my thick, curly hair forming a pillow behind my heavy head. My eyes blinked a few times before opening completely, vision hazy. I felt a breeze on my exposed skin, a warm one, but it didn’t stop the goose bumps from forming on my arms. My gaze made its way down to the green pavement beneath me. Then the realization: I was flat on my back on the camp basketball court. Oh no, please don’t be real life! Then the voice: It is real life, and I am taking over yours.
After a short trip to the infirmary, it was decided that I needed to go to the hospital to get an IV. I was mortified that my parents would have to take a three-hour car ride to make sure I was okay. I wanted to tell them they didn’t have to—that I was fine—but I had no say in the matter. What if they figured out what caused me to end up in this state? What if they uncovered my secret? Our secret.
As far back as I can remember, I was nervous about mostly everything. In fact, there’s hardly an anxiety-free memory I can recall. I was afraid Chinese ghosts possessed the ancient armoire standing prominently in my bedroom. It was decorated with Asian figures in different poses, embroidered in gold, from the Han Dynasty—that’s at least what I concluded after watching Mulan. I was convinced their ghosts were angry Huns, not at all sweet and friendly like Casper the Ghost. I was also always scared that someone would break into the house. Every little squeak and creak made me leap and check under the bed for burglars or worse. In kindergarten, I became petrified of the tooth fairy and swore to my parents that I saw her in my room leading a marching band of fairies the night I lost my first tooth. They told me not to tell the other kids in class that I’d seen this so-called tooth fairy rendition of Alla Marcia because that might be seen as, in my mother’s words, “a little strange.” Oh, and perhaps I was too young to recover the next day and have the knowledge and wherewithal to blame it on a fake bad acid trip. Yes, definitely too young. So I didn’t, out of fear that all of my peers would laugh at me—another fear.
Because of my anxiety, I was very attached to my mom. I hid behind her legs so often she joked that I would climb back into the womb if I could. I think she was right. But what she didn’t know was that out of all of my childhood fears, it was the fear of people not liking me that kept me awake at night.
By the time I got to third grade, I had managed to make a best friend, Elizabeth, and fell in love with the idea of going to sleepaway camp with her. I played a lot of soccer, and hearing about camps that promised full days focused on sports was an unbelievable dream for a tomboy like me. Sitting beside a giddy Elizabeth, as the yellow school bus pulled away from my parents for the first time in my life, I should have felt excited. Instead I began sobbing, palming the filthy windows, mouthing to my mother, “I changed my mind!”
“Dani, run, we’re in the lead!” shouted one of my teammates in the relay race.
I ran as fast as I could across the field, buoyed by the bounce of the fluffy ponytail one of the counselors had made for me.
The baton no longer my responsibility, I took a seat on the sidelines, sipping water from the bottle labeled “Dani Sherman” in my mom’s handwriting. I traced the words with my fingertips, trying to keep my concentration and catch my breath. The heat had hit me hard and I was sweating from parts of my body I didn’t know had sweat glands. I heard cheering around me, but it was disorienting. I couldn’t wait for this race to be over. All I wanted to do was sprawl on my bunk bed and close my eyes. I felt so weak, drained, and light-headed from sprinting—feelings I had never felt before. I usually loved the adrenaline and competitive nature of races. Today was different. This race drained me. I heard cheering around me again, but this time it was even louder than before. We had won. I feigned excitement to appease my friends, but I was really just cheering because I was closer to lying down and that made me really happy.
I started walking back to my bunk with one of my friends. Her curly hair was in a high pony as well, and she had a peppy bounce in her step, matching her Slinky-like bobbing curls.
“I think the gold team has a good chance to really get ahead of the green team at the swim meet, don’t you think?” She was chatting about Color War, the highlight of the camp session.
I nodded.
“We have Michelle on our team too, and
