Eight months ago it would have been absolutely impossible for me to be able to sit quietly, gather my thoughts, and write about them. My body was so exhausted from three-hour-a-day workouts. My life had ground to a halt.

I had long since given up on college due to my lack of focus and long hours spent bingeing in the food court, followed by a thorough purge and teeth brushing. That stuff takes time! When I was as miserable as one is after a huge binge/purge, my immediate priority was to seek comfort. Therefore, I ate more food. I could be starving or full and confuse one for the other.

I worked full-time at my part-time job as a manager at a grocery store, and I was usually in a completely dazed “stay away from food” frenzy while on the clock. My evenings consisted of all-out flour/sugar fiestas, and my mornings were painful and terrifying.

I wanted out, out of life. I couldn’t stop this cycle. I thought that if I just didn’t start putting food in my mouth, I would be fine. Anorexia was more comfortable than were violent purges, but when I chose not to eat, hunger coursed through my being and inevitably sent me ravenously into the food. My state was hopeless. I went to FA, but after one meeting I had figured I’d heard enough about no flour/sugar to be successfully thin all on my own. I made a New Year’s resolution to stop throwing up.

It was the “addict” part of the FA program title that I remembered and it starting calling to me. Coming from AA, I recognized my desperation and became willing to go to any lengths for just, please God, any kind of relief. I found myself at a meeting that a friend of mine attended. My insides were screaming for help, yet once I got there, I could not find my words. “I am throwing up” was what I managed to sputter out as my friend embraced me. Death was inside of me, my eyes were soul-less, and a panic set in like I had never known before. I was powerless. This was literally killing me. I could no longer process food and my sister had begged me to go to the hospital. Like a great addict, I stubbornly refused, left the meeting, and continued to seek an “easier softer way.” For me, this meant admitting complete defeat.

Then for some reason (a total God deal), a friend had picked up a newcomer packet from FA. “These are for you” she exclaimed. I gratefully took the pamphlets and eagerly awaited the upcoming meeting. I don’t remember much about the two days prior to the meeting other than that I was skiing, with healthy snacks in my pocket, so as to prepare for a new life-style change. I binged and purged all day on them.

I went to a meeting and received my food plan. I was able to purposefully stock my fridge and cupboards. I had a sense of wonderment at the simple release of my menu to my sponsor. I could do what she said. I had never been able to make any sound judgment on my own, but I could follow a direction. My life was saved.

By the grace of God, I have had a second chance at recovery. I no longer aimlessly wander. I have a sense of direction. I weigh and measure my meals and I am grateful for the structure in my day. What a gift! I meditate and call my sponsor in the morning—what a beautiful reason to wake up. By working our precious tools, I am connected to others. This is worth all that has brought me here. There are great sadnesses that now I have the privilege of feeling, but I now know that sadness is only a feeling I am going to pass through soon. I cannot dream of what is to come. Life is beautiful and I am excited to live every minute of it.