Anorexia Nervosa

All posts tagged Anorexia Nervosa

FIXING A WHOLE

Published December 19, 2019 by rochellewisoff

The following story is written for the photo prompt below and is part of the Writers Unite! challenge Write the Story

Twenty-three years ago, I fought the final round with Annie—Annie Wrecks Ya. At present I’m working on a novel based on my experience. Thus far the working title is Last Dance with Annie, but I’m not married to it.

FIXING A WHOLE

          The flashbacks started somewhere in my late thirties, upending my memories of a happy childhood. How could I have blocked out such things? Nothing made sense. I loathed the body that had betrayed me. My life spun out of control.

           It’s all about control, you know.

           Annie gave me control. No one, not my husband or even my doctor, could tell me what I could or couldn’t put in my mouth. I controlled my eating—until I didn’t. Annie did.

           Annie controlled my daily frenetic exercise. At the same time I fantasized about onion rings and fried chicken. Of course Annie would never allow me to eat them. She constantly reminded me numbers mattered. One hundred calories per meal. Twenty pink pills to purge it. The scale hovered between eighty-five and eighty-four. 

  “You like my new jeans?” I asked my friend and coworker Linda. “I can’t believe they fit.”

            “What size?” Her ice-blue gaze met mine. 

            “Zero.”

            “You’ll look nice in your child-size coffin.”

            Her comment almost became prophecy when my “dieting” caught up to me. After collapsing in a store, I was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital with an eating disorder unit.

            After two months of treatment and medical leave, I returned to work.

            My size 0 jeans no longer zipped and they’d become tight around the hips and thighs. In fact, I’d outgrown my size 2’s as well.

            “You look so much better,” said Linda. “There’s color in them thar cheeks.”

            That’s a good thing, right?

            Recovery was more difficult than I’d expected. Although Annie’s grip loosened, she continued to haunt me. When someone complimented me on my weight gain Annie translated it to, “My you’re getting fat.”  

            “Body image takes time to change.” My dietitian assured me during my weekly visits. “All I can do is provide the tools. It’s up to you to use them.”

            Tools? What tools?

            One of those so-called tools offered by Dr. Wilson, my psychiatrist, was Risperdal, a drug prescribed to treat such conditions as schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Mental health experts hoped the antipsychotic might calm the obsessive thoughts of anorexics and bulimics.

            I detested the way it made me feel. Strange. Out of touch with the rest of the world. Afraid of what I didn’t know.

            Dr. Wilson decided Risperdal alone wasn’t doing what it should. Diagnosing me as “mildly bipolar” and being “slightly” ADD, she added Lithium to my daily pill-age.

            My appetite dwindled and my anxiety level skyrocketed. I began to lose weight again, but took little pleasure in it. I barely functioned at work. How I stayed on the payroll is beyond me.

            “I’ve never seen such a severe reaction,” said Dr. Wilson. “Clearly you’re allergic.”

             My nightmare was far from over. The drugs’ half-lives of a week or two stretched into over a month. The debilitating side effects continued to take their toll, not only on me, but on my frazzled husband as well.

             One night it all came to a head.

            “I don’t know what do for you anymore.” He fumed when I broke down. “Crying won’t help.”

            I sniffed and choked back sobs. “Stop trying to fix me!”

           With a sigh, he sank into his recliner and gathered me onto his lap. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Maybe you need to go back into the hospital.”

            I snuggled against him. His admission of helplessness comforted me. My true recovery began that very night when, together, we learned crying is sometimes the best of all tools.

***

*Note: The story is non-fiction, save the doctor’s name. (I can’t remember it 😉 ) I’m not sharing this to garner sympathy or shock anyone. Eating disorders strike any age, any ethnicity and any gender. Recovery isn’t as easy as ‘snapping out of it’ or ‘just eat something.’ The reasons are as varied as the individuals. Thank you for understanding.        

WEEKEND WRITING PROMPT – LIMINAL

Published November 9, 2019 by rochellewisoff

A word prompt to get your creativity flowing this weekend.  How you use the prompt is up to you.  Write a piece of flash fiction, a poem, a chapter for your novel…anything you like.  Or take the challenge below – there are no prizes – it’s not a competition but rather a fun writing exercise.  If you want to share what you come up with, please leave a link to it in Sammi’s comment section.

I love this challenge! Today I learned a new word. Thank you, Sammi! 

I dedicate this bit of story to my insightful therapist Wayne Witcher who did more for me than I can say. He came to one of my book signings a couple of years ago and two months later he died. As I always told him I’m…

HIS SUCCESS STORY

 Wayne peered over his clipboard “What do you hope to accomplish by starving yourself to death, Rochelle?”

“They’ll be better off without me.”   

Had it really been twenty years? She wished he were still alive to share this liminal time in her life.

She picked up an imaginary phone. “Wayne, someone important says she loves my manuscript!”

ORIGINAL ARTWORK Rochelle Wisoff-Fields….an illustration from A STONE FOR THE JOURNEY

29 December 2017

Published December 27, 2017 by rochellewisoff

 

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The next photo is the PROMPT. Remember, all photos are property of the photographer, donated for use in Friday Fictioneers only. They shouldn’t be used for any other purpose without express permission. It is proper etiquette to give the contributor credit. 

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

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The following is an edited version of a poem I wrote in the 90’s while battling severe depression and anorexia nervosa which is about control. I thought I was in control but, almost too late, realized the demon was controlling me.  To sort through my confusion I wrote poetry as a means of journaling. Happily, this is no longer my reality, but at the time…

Genre: Adverse Verse

Word Count: 100

VICIOUS CYCLE

Knotted cords surround my thoughts

Like twine that binds a package;

Profusion of convolution, confusion

No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution.

            I’m choking

                        On the dry bread of shame.

And I’m left no choice

But to savagely purge myself.

Cathartic poison,

Painful comfort.

I run a perilous race

To a fatal finish line.

Lethal, venomous humiliation besieges me.

The sins of the forefathers,

Cousins, babysitters and uncles  

Devour and bury.

The demon lures and captures me

In his serpentine embrace.

Too weary to resist seduction,

I relinquish and surrender.

Profusion of convolution, confusion

            No solution

Seeking resolution, absolution

To what conclusion?

 

12 February 2016

Published February 10, 2016 by rochellewisoff

NEWS FLASH!!!

Last week we had another short story winner. Margaret Leggatt in Australia. 

To read her award winning story click 

HERE

Margarette

CONGRATULATIONS, MARGARET!

****

 

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The following photo is the PROMPT. Keep in mind that all photos are the property of the contributor, therefore copyrighted and require express permission to use for purposes other than Friday Fictioneers. Giving credit to whom credit is due is proper etiquette. 

Please be considerate and make an effort to stay within the suggested word count. 

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

WHEN THE SUN CONCEIVED A WOMAN

            I tasted dusty tile floor. Aware of prying stares, lying in my own filth, I wished I could dissolve between the cracks of the thrift shop floor.

            A paramedic struggled to insert an IV into my collapsed vein. “What year is it?”

            “1996.”

            “Do you know your name?”

             My doctor’s words haunted me.

            “You’re going to end up dead on the bathroom floor like Karen Carpenter and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

             Was this the legacy I wanted to leave my children?

            Infused with renewed will to conquer the beast, I answered the EMT. “My name is Rochelle.”  

****

*Footnote-This was a major wake-up call and the first day of my decision to live. The following sketch is part of a series I did to go along with an inner child story I wrote while in treatment, entitled The Magic Daffodils. 

Bubblle Blowing

Original Artwork © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

12 December 2014

Published December 10, 2014 by rochellewisoff

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FF copyright banner finalThe following photo is this week’s PROMPT.  What stands out? What type of story does it tell you? Tell us in a hundred words or less. 

My story comes after the prompt and the blue inLinkz frog. I appreciate honest comments and crit. The artwork afterward is original and used for the sole purpose of illustrating my story. Permission required to use it. Thank you and shalom.   

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

GRACE

            In the midst of running, swimming and daily calisthenics, all at a frenetic pace, I fantasized about onion rings and fried chicken. Low numbers were all that mattered. One hundred calories per meal. Twenty pink pills to purge them. The scale hovered between eighty-five and eighty-four. 

            “You like my new jeans?” I asked my friend Linda. “I can’t believe they fit.”

            “What size?” Her ice-blue gaze met mine.  

            “Zero.”

            “You’ll look nice in your child-size coffin.”

__________

            Now I run and swim at a comfortable pace and not a day goes by that I don’t thank Linda for my life.

 

Author’s Note: After I made the difficult decision to move on, Linda and I tossed those skinny jeans down the trash compactor in the backroom of our store. I don’t tell this to garner sympathy. It’s something I went through and have conquered with the help of excellent therapy and good friends. Life is all grist for the mill, isn’t it? 

 

Mermaid

16 August 2013

Published August 14, 2013 by rochellewisoff

WELCOME TO FRIDAY FICTIONEERS. 

As always, writers are encouraged to be as innovative as possible with the prompt and 100 word constraints. 

Henry David Thoreau said it best.

“It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.”

********

THE CHALLENGE:

Write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end. (No one will be ostracized for going over or under the word count. However, I respectfully ask for your consideration. Please refrain from taking the  liberty of posting 200 words or more as a Friday Fictioneers story. Thank you.)

THE KEY:

Make every word count.

THE RULES:

  • Copy your URL to the Linkz collection. You’ll find the tab following the photo prompt. It’s the little white box to the left with the blue froggy guy. Click on it and follow directions. This is the best way to get the most reads and comments.
  • MAKE SURE YOUR LINK IS SPECIFIC TO YOUR FLASH FICTION. (Should you find that you’ve made an error you can delete by clicking the little red ‘x’ that should appear under your icon. Then re-enter your URL. (If there’s no red x email me at Runtshell@aol.com. I can delete the wrong link for you).
    • ***PLEASE MAKE NOT IN YOUR BLOG IF YOU PREFER NOT  TO RECEIVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM***
    • REMINDER: This page is “FRIDAY FICTIONEERS CENTRAL” and is NOT the place to promote political or religious views. Also, you are responsible for the content of your story and policing comments on your blog. You have the right to delete any you consider offensive.

    **Please exercise DISCRETION when commenting on a story! Be RESPECTFUL.**

    Should someone have severe or hostile differences of opinion with another person it’s my hope that the involved parties would settle their disputes in private.

  • ***********************************************************************

    😦 Note: Please limit your entries to 100 word stories that pertain in some way to the prompt, Last week I pulled one links that had nothing to do with Friday Fictioneers. :(

    ************************************************************************

  • ;) My story follows the photo and link tool. I enjoy honest comments and relish constructive criticism. :D
  • Shalom,

              Rochelle

Copyright - Roger Bultot

Copyright – Roger Bultot

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Genre: Memoir

Word Count: 100

ONE TIN SOLDIER

            Dear Hank,

            Remember how we saw Billy Jack four weekends in a row? I always thought you imagined yourself to be a bad-ass who could kick the hell out of injustice. And with the black belt you earned in Taekwondo, perhaps you could have.

            After graduation our paths diverged. Letters, phone calls and occasional visits kept us connected. 

            When I learned of your fatal crash I reeled with disbelief.

            You were the epitome of masculinity, but you were never afraid to cry. Your tears at my attempted suicide infused me with an indomitable will to survive. 

            Thank you.

            Love,

            Roach

 

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