It Didn't Kill Me, It Made Me Stronger.

Well, another month spent in sunny Wickenburg, Arizona. Another four weeks' worth of tears, fear, grief, anger, joy, laughter. Another shot at redemption.

I went away this time because my physical health was failing. My blood pressure was dangerously low. My heart rate was erratic. The capillaries in my fingertips and toes were bursting. My hands and feet were swollen. I was in bad shape. Before I left, I desperately told my therapist, "I'm drowning slowly." She replied, "No, Cassie, you're dying quickly." That's a hell of a reality check, especially given the fact that I'm only 27 years old.

I spent a great deal of my time at Rosewood getting physically rehabilitated. I was taking 27 pills a day in an effort to stabilize and correct the myriad problems I was facing. I found out that my tricuspid valve is damaged (there goes the marathon I had in my 5-year plan). I was terrified. I agreed to surrender to the treatment team absolutely; I allowed them to make decisions for my health, despite any mental or physical distress they caused me, because obviously I was in no state to make positive decisions for myself.

By the grace of God, my body began to even out. My blood pressure, which had been the most immediate concern, returned to a normal range. The burst capillaries healed. The swelling in my feet went down (and my hands are getting better). I had bloodwork taken a few days ago, just before I came home. I hoped it would all be normal, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. I am still anemic. My immune function is compromised. My kidneys are very taxed. It was disheartening to say the least, but a sobering reminder of the destruction my eating disorder has wrought on my body.

In addition the the medical healing, significant emotional work was done as well. I was blessed to have as my therapist a woman I knew from my prior stays at Rosewood, the music therapist, J. She showed me more compassion and kindness than I ever could have asked for. She guided me gently through some of the most painful work I've ever done. I didn't just cry, I wailed. A lot. I told her before I left that if recovery is measured in tears, then I'm cured.

Perhaps the most striking part of this experience was how much closer I drew to God, how much I surrendered to His will, how much gratitude I feel in knowing that He wants what's best for me. I reminded myself day after day, meal after meal, that God created me in His image, and He has a divine plan for my life. He has brought remarkable, spiritually gifted people into my life who bless me with the proof of His mercy every day. He is my endless source of strength and inspiration. He answers my prayers, not always as I want them answered, but in the way that is best for me.

I have a long way to go, physically and emotionally. My doctor told me the day before I came home that she would have kept me for another month had my insurance benefits not run out. I know, though, that I have all the tools at my disposal to stay on the right path. I must be vigorously honest, accountable, and willing to submit to the help I'm offered. I must fall on my knees whenever and wherever I need to, trusting that God will see me through.

Thank you all for your support. It means more to me than you'll ever know.