A Different Culture

September 22, 2008 bayleeheisler

A different culture

 

               As I sat in a somewhat familiar room filled with identical chairs and people of all ages sitting in a wide-spread circle, I began to notice all of the differences between everyone. There were around twenty- five women from age eighteen to fifty and two men both in their early twenties; all of us listening to a counselor reading an article on addictions at around ten in the morning on a typical Sunday. Everyone looked somewhat tired and somewhat bored of the repetitive schedule of which many of us had been following for several weeks. Each of us in a different stage of life, having experienced different emotional traumas and struggles which brought us together in this unified moment in time. We had different histories, families, cultures, traumas, and memories; yet the one thing we all shared was what set us apart from the rest of the world. We each had eating disorders and had traveled to Pacific Shores from all around the country to get treatment for our disease. Many patients at Pacific Shores, including me, were unsure if they were even willing to let go of their life-consuming disorder. It was a peculiar coping mechanism which had gotten us all through some difficult times and had become engrained in our minds. We knew nothing else and it was entirely scary to explore new options.

               I was one of the youngest ones in treatment and was incredibly withdrawn and closed-off the first week after my arrival. I was in shock that my parents’ threat had actually come into play; I was sent off to Oxnard, CA on my own in hopes of recovery. I was partly in denial of my problems and in no way saw my disorder as life-threatening. As I got used to an intense schedule that started at five-thirty in the morning and kept going until ten at night I observed everything

 around me and soon became ashamed of myself for ending up in such a dark situation in a place where I felt I did not belong. Reality quickly set in, however, and I realized that the sooner I

opened up and dealt with my issues the sooner I could return home to my family. It was initially very hard for me to open up and share my feelings with the counselors and out loud to other patients. I myself could not fathom what had happened to cause such a horrible disease, let alone discuss my issues with others. One Saturday morning in a family session, however, I heard a girl’s story that I could have claimed as my own. She spoke with such honesty and bravery that I immediately spoke up and added part of my story. The counselor promptly gave me amazing feedback and I then knew that I had to share my past experiences if I wanted help. At that moment my stubbornness faded away and I broke through my shell as I told my whole story; and it felt good to be heard. I soon stopped counting down the days to leave Pacific Shores as I began making the best friends I had ever had. Never had I connected with a group so intensely who knew everything that had been passing through my mind each and every day for the past year. Back home these thoughts classified me as crazy and sick, but here these thoughts were common and surprisingly expected. There was nothing any of us could say pertaining to our disorders that would come as a shock to other patients. At last I felt free to say what I was truly feeling and that was an amazing feeling of freedom.

               Six weeks of treatment flew by as I finally found a safe place where I belonged. A place where everyone understood exactly what I was feeling. The crazy rituals inside my head came naturally to other patients, such as obsessively counting calories and strictly monitoring my intake of fluids, and I was no longer viewed as different. We had created our own unique culture to support one another through recovery. With different sayings, such as “keep on keeping on”

and the Serenity Prayer, we did whatever it took to get each other through such a miserable process back to normality; whatever that meant. There were absolutely no secrets that had not

been shared in a group at least once . Honesty was the only way to get better and it was exhilarating to learn others’ stories and the experiences that made them who they are today. I often sat down and had hour-long conversations with women twenty years older than me and connected with them better than my own best friend back home. Many people would consider this strange, as I at first did, but the more I spoke it the more I felt I was truly heard. Gaining a sense of belonging somewhere in this world was the silver lining on an underlying black cloud.

               I will always feel a strong emotional bond to this culture of people, no matter how far along in life I am. This is not an ordinary group to belong to, but I am not an ordinary person. We are each trying to survive in an utterly hectic world and without the support and love from my brand new circle of friends I may not be here today. I fear I may remain attached to my disorder, on some level, for the rest of my life. My culture shares this fear and it takes constant reminding that there is way more to life we all deserve to experience. My addiction continues to be a daily struggle and I constantly call my support system from pacific shores for help and motivation. Even though I am back in the real world, things still get tough and old habits slip themselves back into my life.

 

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