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A Call for Help

 I was in the middle of my daily mile long walk when I got a call. Little did I know this call would have been the one to save my life. It was the summer time, and I hadn’t admitted to having an eating disorder. My parents and doctors put me on a 3,000 calorie diet. They were confused as to why I hadn’t gained a pound. I wasn’t though. I was pretending to eat, throwing away my food when they weren’t looking, and over exercising. At this point, I was at my lowest weight ever and lowest point in my life. My family medicine doctor back in May had suggested a treatment program for eating disorders. I told her no because, “I didn’t have an eating disorder”. She had told me, “I am putting you on the waitlist because I am scared for you. You are dying”. Fast forward a month later it was the week leading up to my dance nationals. The treatment center had called my parents saying there was a spot open for me starting on Monday. If I didn’t take the spot, they would give my place to someone else. I couldn’t skip nationals, I had worked so hard all year, and I would be letting down my team. 


In the end, I decided to go to nationals so my spot was given to someone else in need. I was put back on the waiting list. It was now the next month, and I had completely forgotten I was still on the waitlist. I was still using behaviors that my parents and doctors didn’t know about. Looking back, I was in need of help. My body was in survival mode 24/7. It was a sunny day in July, and I was walking throughout the neighborhood when I got a call from an unknown number. I answered the phone and the woman said, “Hello, is this Jennifer”, I replied with, “no this is her daughter”. The woman, who I would soon learn to be a receptionist named Carly, continued with, “are your parents or guardian around?”. I proceed with, “no why?” She said, “We have a spot available for you next week at Evolve and were wondering if you would like to take it?” This was it! In my mind, I was so relieved. I didn’t have the courage or strength to actually ask for help, and I was exhausted mentally and physically. Carly told me I didn’t have to decide without my parents, but I responded with yes I will take the spot. The next week, I started my journey in recovery in IOP. Asking for help, or going to a treatment center can be scary for sure, but along the way you learn how to live life again. And through the ups and downs, I made friends and memories at treatment that will last a lifetime. 
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