The E-True Bollywood Story

Sarah Casewit Photography

Time flies when you're having a life.

Let's rewind to one year ago today.

On March 11, 2011, I finished my last final and graduated from DU. On March 15th I took my certification course for Group Fitness Instruction. On March 19th I celebrated my graduation; on the 20th I was fired from my newest fitness gig because I was showing "obsessive behavior." On the 29th my mom and I walked my little red suitcase down Downing street, crossed over 18th, and signed me into treatment.

2012: Today marks one-week in my new Capitol Hill Apartment, paid for with my new salary, outfitted with furniture given to me by others.

At this time last year I believed myself to be very, very alone. I exercised alone; worked alone; ate alone; and even when in public I was so self-absorbed in my quest for success, efficiency, and 'fitness' that I was alienated from all surrounding me. What's odd was that I had a hard time connecting the dots between feeling lonely and not contributing to the situations of others. Shamefully I wondered why no one called me to hang out. It seemed like going to the gym was the only thing that kept 'positive feedback' coming my way, although people's exclamations of "How do you get a body like that?!" I now realize weren't actually compliments. Still, I felt like there was no one on my side. And I didn't care because I didn't need them anyway. Right?

Wrong. Two weeks ago my mom and I went out for coffee. We chatted about my new place, upcoming events, and other mundane topics until she abruptly looked at me and said, "There's something I haven't told you. You have a savior."

It all began autumn of 2007, when I bounded up to DU to begin my freshman year. I loved going to the group fitness classes the school offered and began to be recognized as "fitness girl," which was totally fine because I enjoyed every minute of it and compensated dearly with dorm food. My favorite fitness instructor was a woman name Kat*, the highest-energy, most positive butt-kicker I'd ever aerobicized with. When two high-energy talkative women get into a room it's a recipe for fun- we became fast friends. For four years I took Kat's classes and when I decided to get my fitness certification I began interacting with her on a deeper level, telling her about my progress, asking her advice, and taking her to coffee.

As my body and mind deteriorated she told that she was concerned and offered support. She wasn't over-the-top about it; she explained some of her own troubles and warned me to be careful and of the long-term ramifications of such strenuous exercise and malnourishment. She said, "You had such a cute little body. Now you look old." This was genuine, kind, and honest. I wanted badly to take it to heart, but the words bounced off of me like oppositional magnetic fields.

Kat knew this, too. Instead of trying to convince me to change she began working for me behind-the-scenes. "She spent three months trying to find my contact information," my mom said. Around one year ago today she finally located my Mom's phone number. She called my mom and said, "You have to do something; I'm afraid Emily will die in her sleep." My mom and I got in a huge fight that evening and I remember feeling confused- I didn't understand where it came from. It wasn't until two weeks ago that my Mom told me it came from one of the most compassionate people I've ever been blessed enough to have in my life.

Kat didn't just call my mom. Every time I told her about a new fitness gig she also called that company and told them not to hire me. She was the reason I couldn't seem to get a job anywhere. As much as it hurt her to watch me be confounded by another rejection, she secretly knew that she was helping me on my path to recovery.

As I sat listening to this story the room mushroomed around me. The branches on the tree outside stretched further toward the heavens; my coffee cup grew heavy in my hand. The sun brightened. I was so, so small, the most humbled I have ever felt in my life. How could I have believed that no one was on my side, that no one was fighting for my right to sit and type this now? There are some people in this world who live in a genuinely compassionate way. They are people who possess the unbridled love for others that allows them to act selflessly without considering payback or consequences. They are people like Gandhi and Mother Teresa and my friends Sarah and Aaron. I cannot describe to you how awestruck I feel when I reflect upon the love that they show. They are my heroes. They are also my saviors.

This is the E[mily]-True Bollywood Story, the facts behind the scenes. I went to India and I came back with the dedication to become a better person. In my quest, I became a self-absorbed worry-wort and doomed myself to skinny-dom.

There are bigger processes happening behind the scenes. There are people and places and things clicking away, aligning the stars so that you can achieve the life God has blessed us with. You're not alone because someone, somewhere, loves you, is working to help you, is sending vibes your way. You're ever-so-small. Isn't that fantastic?

Like, Whoa

There are those times in life when one is transposed into a state of total awe, incapable of forming concise expectations or impressions of a situation because it is so utterly foreign that they are able only to observe its snaking, momentary events as they unfold. I hope that you've experienced one of these times before; they are intensely humbling, thought-provoking and perspective-granting.

I can list three major times in my life when I've been rendered audience to the happenings around me. The first time was when my family and I moved to Ireland. I was young and naive in a very complex land. I never really knew where I was, what people around me really meant by their words and gestures, why my family struggled so much, and what I even wanted from the journey. I spent my days exploring, with my mom or alone, just seeing. I didn't handle this time well; I tried too hard to make it what I thought it should be, and in the end we returned to the United States more self-aware than ever before.

Then there was my study abroad in India. I signed the dotted line to a contract with the unknown and never looked back. I wanted to be shown a new dimension of the world, an audience to a Shakespearean reality. It worked. Yet, again I committed that constant error that haunts all of my undertakings: the error of trying to smash every one of my life's lemons into lime-ade. Rather than let Ireland and India grace me with their lessons, sitting on the boat as it sailed down the river, I took up a paddle and tried to go upstream. I tried to control the situation as best I could, subsequently suffering the consequences of missed expectations for years to come (read: I became a total control freak and landed in treatment. C'est la vie).

The third and final time (to date) that I've become a 5-year old on the first day of life's Kindergarten started last Thursday night. I'm positive that I will wake up to a new dawn of lessons from this experience for years to come.

On Thursday night I threw a "Totally Rad Females Idea Party." It was TOTALLY RAD. The most TOTALLY RAD part was when all the incredible women that I invited rallied together to explain to my grandmother what the term TOTALLY RAD meant. I invited as many impressive women as I could, including Heather*, a friend from treatment from a city on the East Coast. Obviously, treatment is an experience of immense bonding, and I really felt like I knew her. In fact, I do believe I know her; what I didn't know was the depths of her diseases: alcoholism and anorexia/ bulimia. At the party Heather told me that she was allowed a glass of wine. She got drunk but it was okay, because all of the other women were letting their guards down too and she just kind of blended in. Heather and I had an awesome Friday planned, but she started acting weird when I called in the morning. When I arrived at 10:30, her teeth, face, and shirt were stained with red wine. I called her mother and eventually convinced her to spending a sober day with me. It was my first day off in 3 weeks and I wanted to enjoy it with my best friend. That evening I left her at the loft for a couple of hours. When I returned, she was wasted.

That was when things started to get real. Heather was intoxicated on wine or hand sanitizer and Listerine until her mother finally came to pick her up on Tuesday. The whole experience has been utterly surreal. Watching someone self-destruct is like standing in an invincible protective bubble while a Mach-5 tornado swirls around you. What I'm most thankful for is the fact that the Totally Rad Females Idea Party the night before had endowed me with an invigorated sense of self, key to weathering this storm. Once I became cognizant that the beast was not Heather and that her demons were much larger than the situation, I was able to act moment-to-moment and garner the support I needed to ensure that she did not die on my watch. I called in the troops (my mother) and moved her out of my grandparent's loft and into a hotel (word to the wise: don't let an alcoholic drink red wine in a modern white loft. Word to alcoholics: if you're trying to hide your drinking, don't drink red wine).

Heather swore she'd stay sober enough to catch her flight home, then ordered two bottles of wine as soon as we'd left the room. Heather tried to lock us out of her room, so we had to have the hotel remove the lock. Heather ran the bathtub and passed out naked; luckily, my mom came to check up on her just in time. Heather threw up all over the hotel room and slept in it. Heather awoke before the liquor stores opened and was cut off by the hotel bar, so she bought Listerine and hand sanitizer and mixed it with juice for a new type of cocktail. I don't think that one will hit mixology menus any time soon.

And, somehow, I was working 10-hour days, cleaning the loft and house-sitting, and trying to maintain my new job while thinking incessantly about the thing that used to be my friend. I didn't try to understand. I didn't cry. I didn't smile. I just watched and reacted in as stoic a manner as possible.

Truth be told, this has been a Godsend. I have never found prayer so naturally, hearing my mind utter hopes and thanks without willing it to. As I mentioned in my last blog, this new job has tried my path to recovery, but Heather's disorder provided the slap in the face that I needed. I've been so self-absorbed these past few weeks that I disconnected from all that was real in the world. Heather brought reality crashing back to me. Heather also reminded me how invaluable my family is, how lucky I am to have a support system like them, and how important it is to be honest with myself and those around me.

What emotions I've experience (some anger, some hatred, a lot of gratitude) have been secondary to that primary emotion of awe. It was like learning about sex for the first time: I had NO IDEA that this was even a possibility. Learning what it means to be an alcoholic has altered my world-view in so many ways; I can no longer laugh at the drunks on the street because I wonder if my friend might one day join their ranks. I know that my friend will die if she stays in her disorders. I know that I will, if not physically then physiologically, if I live in mine.

Right now, I am proud of one thing: I did not squish lemons into lime-ade this time. I didn't even have to tell myself not to, actually. Evidently, I have internalized that seminal lesson to let life run it's course and use my natural instincts to operate within it. I didn't try to control the situation and didn't form silly expectations about it. I dropped into cruise control, embracing whatever tools God blessed me with (internally and externally) and can now reflect and learn.

Nothing of everything makes no sense. Thank the Lord.

Sarah Casewit photography