Chelsea Smith - Diary of an Eating Disorder: A Mother and Daughter Share Their Healing Journey

A Mother and Daughter Share
Their Healing Journey

Chelsea Browning Smith

with comments from her mother,

Beverly Runyon

Copyright 1998 by Chelsea Browning Smith and Beverly Runyon

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.

Published by Taylor Trade Publishing

An Imprint of the Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group

4501 Forbes Blvd., Suite 200

Lanham, Maryland 20706

Distributed by National Book Network

Smith, Chelsea Browning.

Diary of an eating disorder : a mother and daughter share their healing journey / Chelsea Browning Smith ; with perspectives from her mother, Beverly Runyon.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-87833-971-6

1. Smith, Chelsea BrowningMental health. 2. Eating disorders in adolescencePatientsBiography. 3. Mothers and daughters.
4. Runyon, Beverly BrowningDiaries. I. Runyon, Beverly Browning. II. Title.

RJ506.E18S64 1998

362.1'968526dc21

[B]

989970

CIP

Printed in the United States of America

To all those who lived these times with me. I give
my journal to all the women and girls who know
days like these and can call them their own.

Beverly Runyon

Beverly Runyon

Beverly Runyon

Beverly Runyon

I am forever thankful for my large family, who each had the courage to see, and ultimately hear the truth.

John Holt, my brother and first reader, who always insisted I believe. My time with you is never enough. My mom, for meeting and conquering your greatest fears, and even more, for having the courage to live your own life. Youve given me the most unconditional love Ive known. I love you both beyond reckoning.

Bill, who consistently loved and raised me as though I were his own. Keep climbing your mountains!

My dad, who taught me there is nothing more powerful than the truth. Despite our distance I never doubted your love for me.

For all the laughter, energy, love, and continuous fun, I want to thank my best friends in the world. You will always remind me there is nothing more precious than life.

Jason Rath, my editor, for your calm and encouraging voice. Thank you for all your support.

Finally, Remuda, for the tools to fly! Dr. Don, Amy, the nurses, the Kellers, and all the women who walked with me in the darkest time of our lives. Thank you is never enough.

Every time I leave one of my sessions I feel better. We talk about stuff; I feel, express, and even cry. Today was the third time since I left her office to come home and throw up. I think things are getting better despite the fact that my mind focuses eighty percent of the time on food during the fifty-five minutes. But its like the kitchen is a refuge for my mind. I always know it will be there, waiting to embrace me when I get home.

Alone is how I hope to find it. I have been thinking of what I will sink my teeth into first. Usually I go for the fat-free chocolate cake, then to the frozen yogurt, back to some bagel, and then finish with the frozen yogurt (which makes it all come up much smoother). I dont think this is normal, though I am not really concerned. I feel like a million-pound weight has been swept away by the effortless flush of the toilet. The hardest thing is to look in the mirror after I have thrown up. Sometimes I wipe my face before I look. Other times I leave the spit, bile, and food on my mouth and hands. I just stand there holding my hands up, with my shoulders slumped over. I produce this expression of absolute helplessnessthen I laugh. I guess I am amazed by the act Ive just committed. I cant explain why, I cant believe that it is really me doing this. Why would I do something like throw up? I really have no reason to torture myself. Bulimia was always themI cant possibly be like that. I throw up, but I am not a bulimic. I sure as hell dont have an eating disorder.

I am totally for this whole counseling thing because I feel sad a lot and I want to feel better. But I cant leave there and not feel that I have to get this crap out. All this stuff that we talk about.

Today, Dr. Tant asked me when this all began. My first thought was, Oh this throwing up thing? I really cant remember. But I do recall one time when my ex-boyfriend Matt and I had gone to a really nice dinner. My recollection of the evening was that it was perfect. I remember thinking about how this food was really fattening, though, and how it would make me fat if I kept it down. I didnt know or have the willpower to just not eat it. Over and over I tortured and berated myself about the effects this dinner would have on my body. I couldnt bear it. This dinner was no longer one meal; it was going to ruin my body and make me fat. I couldnt stand that food being inside me another moment. Looking back I cant imagine how I could have thrown up right there on the side of the road. It was like I had no couth. I told Matt to pull over, and I just stuck my hand down my throat. Rationalizing the act while engaging in it, I then jumped back in the truck to carry on with the night. We never discussed my vile act other than Matt saying, I cant believe you just did that.

I know, I responded, but it just was making me feel so sick. I mean, my stomach was really nauseous.

Basically I dont know when I began this war with myself, but I know it caused me to fear myself. The rest is a blurits beginning, its incentive. I heard Dr. Tants question. I just didnt have the answer.

Chelsea Browning Smith

September 7, 1992

Beverly Runyon

I have never kept a journal or even a diary before. I know now that journaling is an accepted therapeutic tool, but I just never felt comfortable putting my daily feelings down in a tangible form. Maybe I had a problem with trustwhat if someone read it someday? Maybe it was a way of staying in denial that my daughter might die.

To accurately recall how it all came about is difficult, because I am notorious for having a terrible memory. It is a family joke that I can never recall the event, conversation, or place the whole family is talking about. I now believe my poor memory has much to do with the problem I have of staying in the present moment. I have always been thinking about what I need to do next, what I ought to be doing, or should have done. My heart and mind are rarely totally present with me. Im concerned about her or him, the what-ifs, the outcome. How could I remember taking in the cues, the clues, the hints, the hesitations, when my mind was not focused on the present? I am learning to slow down, to not be so hypervigilant. It is part of my recovery, part of my story, part of the journal I never took time to keep.

To now recall is also painful. Why would I want to remember what a few years ago kept me awake for hours as my mind swirled with thoughts of helping Chelsea and filled me with fear when I woke up exhausted in the morning? The first reason I am remembering and revealing the mistakes, the pain, and the truth now is that Chelsea asked me to. The second reason is that I believe in what she is doing to help others. If Chelsea is brave enough, caring enough, generous enough, honest enough to tell her story, then how could I not tell my part in it?