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I have decided to run the Long Branch Half Marathon on May 6th 2012 this year.  I am raising money for the Mental Health Association in NJ, an organization whose mission I believe in deeply.  I am running in honor of a teenage friend of mine, JIllian, who struggles with an eating disorder, and in honor of the 1 in 4 Americans who struggle with their mental health each year.  I am being helped with the training and fundraising efforts through a beautiful organization called Running on Love, which is designed to help people to run endurance events and fundraise for a charity at the same time. 

It was not easy to decide to run this race, as I am the heaviest I've ever been, and I tried to run a marathon when I was in better shape than this and got injured.  However, my passion for this cause and my hope that it will inspire my friend Jillian and help her to recover are what is keeping me very motivated.  Also, it is a known fact that those with mental illness have a much lower life expectancy than the average population.  I hope that in running this event, I not only change my own life, and add years to it, but I also encourage others to do the same.  I will be posting more about how to contribute money to this cause as the event gets closer.  I want to thank my readers in advance for your support of my mission. 

Be Well
~Emily
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Ah, Marlboro.  This town, located just one hour southwest-ish of NYC, was once all farmland and clay. The "marl" in Marlboro is a clay that the Indians used to use to make clay pots and such (at least that's what Ms. Breen told us in third grade). 

Growing up in Marlboro was wonderful in many ways.  It was a suburb of NYC, so very often, my parents or friends and I would hop a train and go into the city.  The sprawling farmland was sold and turned into the kind of soccer fields that any "soccer mom" would adore.  The school district was very highly regarded, and as an upper-middle class suburb, none of my friends ever had to deal with the pain of poverty or starvation. 

HOWEVER, there was something in the air in Marlboro; let's for now call it "friendly competition."  There were EXPECTATIONS- which started among the parents, but trickled down to the kids like the water in a leaky faucet trickles into the sink.  Conversations amongst parents when I was young would go something like this,  "I would have let David come over to play today, but he's so busy, what with travel soccer, his Project Venture homework (our district's elementary school Gifted and Talented Program), and gymnastics competition that he couldn't possibly have time."  To which the other mother would respond, "well, that's ok.  My son was busy too- he was working on his science fair project, which he, by the way got an A+ on and taking his concert piano lessons, so he couldn't have had a friend over anyway." 

This "competition" continued throughout my youth, and into adolescence.  The conversation became different, but the main messages were still the same. How come my father, who bless his heart traveled back and forth to NYC everyday with many of the other Marlboro fathers, could tell me by the time he got home at night exactly what my schoolmates' SAT scores were, where they were going to college, and what they were majoring in.  Believe me, it wasn't because he was highly interested.  It was because the "competition conversation" continued  from Marlboro to NYC, and then all the way back home.  And it didn't end there.  Dad was also able to overhear how much money people's kids were making on their first job, where they were working, and eventually who they were marrying, and how much the engagement ring cost.  Is anyone else seeing something wrong with this picture?

As I said before, there were "EXPECTATIONS," in Marlboro.  Not from my parents, but from the general masses. Expectations about how well one did in school, how one dressed, the kind of car they drove, the extra curricular activities that one was involved in.  And for someone like me, someone who always wanted to be her best self, I certainly got wrapped up in all of this.  Part of it was just trying to fit in.  Part of it was that I am competitive by nature.  But, I put so much pressure on myself to fit the "Marlboro Mold." I had to look, dress, achieve, and generally fit in with the high standards set by many parents, and absorbed by their children. 

But, in all of this competition, where was the room for a child with special needs?  It wasn't there.  And by high school, although I did well academically and socially, I was just that; a child with special needs.  I was anorexic.  I was highly depressed and anxious.  I felt alone.  And all of this, I ever so carefully hid behind my "Marlboro Mask," letting only a few close confidants see the "real me."  I remember going to football games in high school, and putting on my makeup and my best cheerleader smile, only to come home and break down in tears behind closed doors. I remember hiding in my basement from friends that just stopped by for a visit if I didn't think I looked my best, and making my sister tell them I wasn't home.  I remember all of the compliments I would get on my 90 lb body when I was in high school, and hoping I'd always stay 90 pounds.  No one cared that I was starving myself, not even me.  It didn't matter.  I had to fit in, I had to be "perfect" and keep my "Marlboro Mask" intact. 

But, this left very little room for the real me.  The real me was someone that I squelched and hid under the covers at night, secretly hoping she'd disappear so that I could be as perfect as friend X and friend Y.  The real me was a depressed, anxious mess who felt so scared of her symptoms and completely alone.  I remember having to learn relaxation exercises from a therapist to take my SATs and make Varsity Cheerleading.  Really?  Yes.   That's how bad it got.

I started at Emory University, a place that I like to call "Marlboro south," and believe you and me, my "Marlboro Mask" came right along with me.  But, within months, it all came crashing down.  You can only squelch full-blown bipolar disorder and your own self for so long before it bubbles up to the surface.  And bubble up it did.  I had to leave school to go into the hospital within my first semester.  I was mortified.  What would I tell all of my friends from Marlboro and their parents?  I hated myself for "ruining my life," and only wanted to die. 

Well, finally, I was forced to face myself; forced to start to take off my "Marlboro Mask."  It was a gradual process, but in college, I just couldn't run from who I really was anymore.  I had to share about the most intimate parts of my life with my schoolmates, because it was obvious that something was wrong, and frankly, I was tired of hiding.  It was exhausting.  I remember being so ashamed because I was living in my sorority house, but getting picked up by a bus to go to my day program for my mental health every day.  I remember being in and out and in and out of the hospital for my psychiatric health.  Trying medication after medication.  Nothing was working.  But, I could no longer hide from who I really was.  And, in retrospect, humiliating as it was, it was the best thing for me. 

I went through all of the stages of loss of my former self- the anger, the grief, and finally acceptance.  This came after I graduated college and was working on my first job.  I joined an organization called NAMI In Our Own Voice, in which they trained you to tell your recovery story.  I remember my trainer, who has now become a dear friend of mine, was a man who had schizophrenia, but managed to become the CFO of several Fortune 500 companies.  I remember seeing others who struggled with their mental health, and had recovered and lived amazing lives.  And, I finally realized three things: 1) I wasn't alone, 2) it wasn't my fault, and 3) I had nothing to be ashamed of.  From the first time that I told my story to an audience, I realized that this story put me in the position to help others.  That there were so many people like me, who suffered in silence, who hid behind social masks, and were ashamed and hopeless.  And, as I shared my story, I gained confidence and a realization of why I was put on this Earth with Bipolar Disorder- to help others who were suffering.  Finally, I took my "Marlboro Mask" and incinerated it.  And, in doing so, I set myself and others free.  It feels damn good to be thirty three, and accept myself exactly as I am, and even LOVE that person.  And it feels great to know that you, my readers, can benefit from the pain that I once felt- there was a purpose behind my suffering.    I hope that by getting rid of my "Marlboro Mask," I can encourage others to do the same.  Self love, not self blame. 

Be Well,
~Emily
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For much of my life, I've had an eating disorder.  When I was 10 years old, I began dieting.  I was in dance classes, and wanted to look thin in my leotard.  This undoubtedly affected my metabolism, however, I continued to diet all the way through college. 

Then, I was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder at 18.  I found myself binging and purging through exercise, and my then anorexia turned into something known as exercise bulimia. 

Well, in my mind, things were going fine because I was still thin.  But, the thinness didn't stick around.  In my young adulthood my metabolism slowed down.  This, coupled by the fact that I was injured in a car accident, and couldn't exercise made it nearly impossible to control my weight while binging.  I had to find a new way.

For me, the new way is OA, also known as Overeaters Anonymous.  Their philosophy, which I wholeheartedly agree with is that food can be a powerful addiction, too.  And I, certainly, am an addict.  I really have always been obsessed with food.  I have now started to abstain from flour and sugar, and weigh and measure all of my foods.  It feels great!  Yes, it was rough in the first day or so, but getting through that was well worth it.  My moods are better, I feel more in control of my food, and the best part is, I'm not binging like I was. 

I hope to lose the weight, and I know I will, but this is a side benefit.  The real change is the feeling of control over something that I had long ago lost control over, and also the change in my mood.  The highs and lows are not nearly as pronounced. 

There has been some research that shows that not eating sugar and flour does improve moods.  I seriously cannot believe the difference in myself.  I visited with my very skilled Nurse Practitioner who prescribes my meds, and she said that not eating flour and sugar is a sure way to have mental peace and sanity.  And that's something worth working for!

Be Well,
~Emily
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