Erica Rivera - Insatiable: A Young Mothers Struggle with Anorexia

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Table of Contents

A gripping account of life inside an eating disorder and how one individual escaped through the bonds of motherhood, Insatiable is an inspiring personal memoir of turning struggle into triumph.

Ira M. Sacker, M.D.,
author of Regaining Your Self and Dying to Be Thin

This is a deeply felt, moving account of turning obessions into passions, of becoming free to meet love on its own terms. Written in an original style and propelling structure, Insatiable reveals the heart of a young woman struggling to face her demons. The triumph is that she managed to become whole.Natalie Goldberg,

author of Old Friend from Far Away and Writing Down the Bones

Erica Rivera has written a fierce, difficult, honest book about living withand almost dying fromfood disorders and anorexia. As readers, we experience the painful, intimate details of a life taken over by the authors desperate struggle to make herself so thin she becomes barely a shadow. We see the enormous cost of this illness, and feel gratitude and a sense of hope as Ms. Rivera takes on her demons and finds her way back to a life worth living.

Deborah Keenan,
author of Willow Room, Green Door: New and Selected Poems

Most Berkley Books are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, or educational use. Special books, or book excerpts, can also be created to fit specific needs.

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Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I must thank my agent, Jamie Brenner, for believing in me as a writer and for being a relentless advocate for Insatiable. Without your unconditional support, candid feedback, and steady guidance, this book would not have been possible.

Thank you to Denise Silvestro for her keen editorial eye and for giving me the freedom to shape this manuscript.

Thanks are also due...

... to Natalie Goldberg for being the momentum behind my writing, for teaching me how to write down the bones, and for reminding me that I dont need to be so good. You are my literary guru and I am forever indebted to you.

... to Madelon Sprengnether for taking a chance on me, to Deborah Keenan for pushing me toward creative nonfiction, and to the Star Tribune for publishing my first clips.

... to Bill Addison for kicking my rear into gear; were it not for your encouragement, Insatiable might still be in my file cabinet.

... to Kevin S. Moul for capturing my soul with his camera.

... to Shannon for calling me on my shit.

... to Kelly Kiernan and Caribou Coffee for caffeinating me and providing me with a creative refuge.

... to all the members of my personal pit crew who were instrumental in my recovery and continue to keep The Machine running smoothly.

... to all my friends and fellow writers who inspired and uplifted me throughout the many drafts of this book.

... to all the men mentioned in this manuscript. Thank you for loving me when I felt most unlovable. No act of affection, no matter how small, went unappreciated.

... to Tito for keeping my feet warm during the many hours at my desk.

... to my father, stepfather, and brother (the best men in my life) for lightening the mood with your laughter when I lingered too long on the dark side.

... to my mother. Before you get mad, remember that this book got me out of your basement and paid for the remodeling! Well write the happy memories in the next one.

... to all those whom I have inevitably forgotten to thank: though your name is not mentioned on these pages, there is infinite gratitude for you in my heart.

I dedicate this book to my daughters, to whom I owe my life. May the rest of my days be spent making up for the time anorexia stole from us. (Disney World, here we come!)

chapter one

Mendota Mad Dogs

december 2005

Im not supposed to be here. Im not supposed to be sitting in the waiting room of the eating disorders ward at Mendota Hospital. I dont fit in with the sunken-face, ash-complexioned toothpick girls drowning in baggy sweats. The two teenyboppers seated across from me arent even old enough to drive; their mothers, clutching leather Coach purses with delicately manicured hands, sit beside them and peer at the other patients from under feathery bangs. The mothers are almost as thin as their daughters.

I do not belong. I am twenty-four, a soon-to-be divorce, and a mother myself. Im not starving myself in a passive-aggressive attempt to delay the onset of adolescence. Hell, Im not even starving. I eat all the time. One hundred percent whole foods, too. Im probably the healthiest woman on the planet.

Granted, I havent felt up to snuff lately. Since I started my health kick this fall, Ive noticed a few odd symptoms. Most notably, my period is MIA. I dont mind so muchits nice to have a sabbatical from messy ol Aunt Flo.

Theres also an annoying ache in my ass that makes it uncomfortable to sit for more than thirty minutes and to chauffeur my clients around at work. Thats another issueIve been so damn exhausted lately that Ive been calling in sick to Teen Transformation (TT), the residential treatment center where I work part-time.

Theres also an incipient weakness in my arms; my limbs go limp like noodles at a moments notice. I cant carry my purse, let alone lift my twenty-month-old daughter, Lola, from her crib or my almost three-year-old daughter, Julia, from the toilet. Okay, thats a stretchIm too pooped to potty train for now.

Speaking of which, Ive regressed. Every few nights, I awake in sheet-soaking puddles of piss. I also pee uncontrollably when I exercise, though often Im so sweaty I dont notice the stinky swamp between my legs.

My eyesight is fine, but words dont process. This instantaneous illiteracy, aka Teflon brain, makes it impossible to study, and forced me to take a semester off from my masters program in professional counseling.

For now, Im functional, but this strange cluster of symptoms reminded me of an adolescent flirtation with an eating disorder. I consulted my shrink, Dr. Garrison Trader, on my stay-slim strategy of laxatives and excessive running. Garrison met my confessions with the same blank-screen silence as with everything else I told him. Garrison didnt think I was disordered, but my nutritionist did. At her suggestion, I decided to get a second opinion.

The receptionist at Mendota hands me a stack of papers bigger than a graduate school application and a sharp no. 2. Hooray for questionnaires! I love psychopathology and all the tools used to diagnose it. Im the dork who volunteers to complete customer satisfaction surveys, census forms, and college course evaluations without compensation. The feeling of filling in those little bubbles satisfies my need for definitive answers. This is right, this is wrong. This is normal, this is not.

I begin.

Have you been deliberately trying to restrict the amount of food you eat to influence your shape or weight?

Affirmative.

Have you tried to avoid any foods that you like in order to influence your shape or weight?

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