Residential Bulimia Nervosa Treatment in Marbella, Spain
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Marbella Bulimia Nervosa Hospital€ Call For Prices
- Luxury? Yes
- Licensed Hospital? Yes
- Location: Seafront
- Bulimia Clinic: Yes
- Year Established: 2010
- Listing type: Bulimia Nervosa Clinic
- Parking: Secure
- Treat Anorexia?: Yes
Residential Luxury Bulimia Nervosa Rehab in Marbella in Spain
Bulimia Nervosa Information
Bulimia Nervosa has not been noted in medical literature the same way as Anorexia has. In fact, it has only been considered an illness since 1979 and was then thought only to be rare. Since then attempts to explain bulimia have continued. Like anorexia, research has clearly defined it like anorexia as a psychological illness. Many of bulimics have usually also had a past of history of Anorexia or obesity. The causes of Bulimia Nervosa are not quite known. Again, there is no simple cause but rather various contributing factors.
Bulimia is probably one of the most dangerous and life-threatening of all the eating disorders. Cigarettes, alcohol and drugs are all substances with which the bulimic can find his/herself acting out in the same pattern. The contrast between control and lack of it can also extend in more ways into a bulimic's life. Many bulimics have been anorexic and have progressed to bulimia. Bulimics are often confused about how they feel and often do not know when they are hungry or full. This confusion makes it difficult for them to respond appropriately with their eating behavior. With them it seems to be either feast or a famine.
The bulimic uses binging and vomiting and laxatives to keep their weight at low levels. The estimates of those who suffer from bulimia are also difficult to tell but it is estimated to effect female and males between the ages of 15 and 45.
Bingeing is a an urgent and compelling need that can either overcome the sufferer suddenly without warning or it can be planned for hours or days ahead. Sometimes the urge to binge is so pressing that it has to be met immediately. When bingeing, a sufferer can consume thousands of calories at one time. Bingeing often takes place in the evening and always when the sufferer is alone and usually consists of high sugar and high calorie foods. Some researchers have reported college students organizing "group binges". Some sufferers spend whole days bingeing and vomiting. Once the binge is over a bulimic is likely to be taken over by feelings of panic and guilt and in addition he/she probably feels bad physically. Eating large amounts of food quickly makes one feel uncomfortable especially in the stomach and abdomen. There are stories of people who have eaten so much in a binge that some part of their digestive system, stomach or throat has ruptured, causing death. Few bulimics go to such extremes but they are still desperate to find a way to relieve the discomfort. After such a period of food deprivation, an ordinary amount of food may leave the sufferer feeling bloated and uncomfortable. The most common method to force food out of the system is self-induced vomiting where sufferers put their fingers down their throats to make themselves sick. This action can be very straining to the sufferer and to the body. They often suffer from tooth decay, low blood pressure and swollen cheek glands. Often bulimics have bruised fingers from purging. Also see, physical dangers. After time some bulimics that they can vomit at will, without even stimulating the vomiting reflex. Others become so used to eating and vomiting it becomes difficult and worryingly hard to keep any kind of food down. Other bulimics use laxatives as well as or instead of vomiting. Overdosing on laxatives is common, there are many reports of bulimics taking more than 100 laxatives at a time. I've often had women write me after being hospitalized after use of so many laxatives. Laxative abuse is dangerous as it leads to imbalances in the body which can can result in collapse and even death. The less serious imbalances will cause either dehydration or bloating because the fluid balance of the body is disrupted.
When it comes to treatment, of course a Bulimic has to want help and seek treatment. The need for help is not immune among these systems. The anorexic finds it almost impossible to recognize that need for help, at least at first, where the bulimic feels the need only to have regret asked for it. In time a bulimic can usually understand that she needs to know what is going on with themselves and can stay with that need long enough to finally meet it. The recovery to any eating disorder is difficult as said before, but in the end, a life may be saved from professional help to stop the life-threatening cycle of bulimia.
The personal story of Lisa who self indifies as a bulimic.
My name is Lisa and I'm a bulimic. I'm a mother of two from London in the UK and I've been struggling with my eating disorder for as long as I can remember.
I grew up in a household with an alcoholic, verbally abusive father and a meek, co-dependent mother. She was a victim of his ridicule, as well. I love my mother dearly and I don't blame her for my problems, but I can't help but wonder what my life would have been like had she been a stronger, more independent person.
Not a day went by where my father failed to point out all of what he perceived to be my faults. He made a special effort to tell my sisters and I just how stupid, fat, ugly, and worthless he thought we all were.
After a while, I began to believe him.
The earliest I can remember purging was the summer I turned eight years old. Looking back now, I realize that I wasn't fat at all, but I felt fat. I remember watching a movie on television about a young woman who would eat as much as she desired and then make herself vomit. As an eight year old, I thought that was a pretty cool concept. I also remember thinking that if I could do that, I'd get skinny enough so that maybe my dad would love and accept me.
At first, the thought of making myself vomit was discouraging and repulsive. I started out by sticking my fingers in the back of my throat (the same method I saw the young woman in the movie employ). As I grew older, I became an "expert". I no longer needed any assistance; just thinking about purging was enough to induce vomiting. I had also discovered other ways of ridding my body of the unwanted food: laxatives, diet pills...even tried an enema once, but quickly decided I was going to avoid that method. It was too much trouble.
The self-induced vomiting continued into my adolescent and early teen years. During all those years of purging, it never occurred to me that I might have a serious problem. Most of my friends were doing the same thing and I thought our behavior was normal. We'd look at magazines and see all the pretty models, and talk about how one day we were going to look like those women. None of us realized what we were doing to ourselves.
My destructive behavior subsided a bit during my teen years from the age of 16 to the age of 19. During that time, I had a wonderful friend who made me feel beautiful, both inside and out. We had grown up together and he was able to love and understand me in a way that nobody else ever had. I will never forget him or what a tremendous gift of friendship and support he gave me. Unfortunately, as time went on, we drifted apart. I started college and he joined the army. We both went on to build separate lives and lost touch. Even now, nearly 15 years later, I still think about him occasionally, and I miss his friendship.
I was married at the age of 21 and our marriage lasted nearly nine years. It wasn't until a few years into our marriage that my husband started drinking heavily and became abusive. The remaining years we spent together were the most chaotic, unhappy years of my life. My eating disorder was out of control.
As the years went on, our marital problems continued to escalate. The drinking and abuse were getting worse and I was slowly sinking into an unbearable depression. I had gotten to a point where I would binge for days on end and purge until my throat bled. I felt like I was losing my mind. Sometimes, while saying my prayers at night, I would ask God to show mercy and take me away from all of the pain I was feeling. I wanted to die, yet lacked the courage to do anything about that desire.
I had almost a year of reprieve after the birth of my first child. During that time, I was able to divert all of my thoughts and energy to being the best mother I could possibly be to my new daughter. My husband even took a hiatus from his verbally abusive behavior and became a somewhat "normal" husband. When my daughter was 10 months old, I had a miscarriage. Immediately after that, I found out that my husband was having an affair with a woman he worked with, and his abusive habits crept back into our lives, almost overnight. So then too, did my bulimic behavior. It was like welcoming back an old friend. The old habits enveloped me in their familiarity and I wrapped them around my heart and mind like a cocoon. As weird as it sounds, my bulimia was my refuge.
A few years later, I gave birth to my second child, a son. This time around, I had no expectation of a reprieve from the horror that my life had become. My pregnancy had been a continuous binge with life threatening consequences. I found myself vomiting to the extreme. I quickly became dehydrated and developed liver and kidney problems, as well as toxemia (high blood pressure and other related problems during pregnancy). My son was born nearly two months premature. He was terribly jaundiced and had contracted an infection in his blood stream due to the infection I had raging through my own body because of the liver failure. It wasn't until I stood over him in the neo-natal intensive care unit, taking in the various monitors and IV drips they had him attached to, that I realized just how destructive my behavior was. I spent the first three days of his new life in a vigil at his bedside before the doctors felt his condition had improved enough to allow him to be transferred to my room. Today, both of my children are healthy and happy, and I'm so thankful for that blessing.
As time went on, my husband's abuse and infidelities increased. By the time my son's second birthday rolled around, we hadn't spoken to each other in nearly six weeks. After nine years of marriage, we were strangers living in the same house.
One morning, while listening to him as he got ready for work, I started wondering how he would react to my death and what the world would be like without me in it. That was the first and only time I had ever seriously entertained the idea of taking my own life. I felt suffocated by what was going on in my life and I honestly felt that death was my only salvation. He turned around and noticed me watching him. He looked directly into my eyes as he put on his coat, then left without saying a word. When I looked into his eyes, I saw nothing. They were a mirror image of what I felt in my heart. At that moment, I realized that if I didn't make some drastic changes in my life, the way I was living would be the end of me.
As was our usual daily routine, I took my daughter to school and dropped my son off at day care. Instead of going to work, I preceded to return home and call my place of employment to report that I was ill. I called a family member and made arrangements to have her pick up my children at the end of the day and keep them with her for a few days.
The weather was warm and gloomy that day and I could hear the silence in the house; the whole scene was pretty surreal. I put on some music, sat in my favorite chair, and spent the remainder of my day thinking.
So many things rushed through my mind that day. I meticulously evaluated every nuance of my relationships with my father and my husband. I took into account all the similarities between the two men. I made a mental list of their various habits and abusive traits. The lists were a carbon copy of each other. I realized that, in a sense, I had married my father.
I thought about my children and how the way we were living was affecting them. They were both becoming very quiet and withdrawn whenever their father was around. I tried talking to friends and relatives about their behavior, and I was continuously told it was a normal stage that young children went through. Every instinct I had was telling me it wasn't normal behavior, and that they were behaving in that way because they had grown to be afraid of him. That was unacceptable.
I came to the conclusion that my children and I deserved better. It was time to get away from the chaos. Ironically, at the time I made that decision, the song "Time for Me to Fly" by REO Speedwagon was playing on the radio. Even now, many years later, every time I hear that song, I think about that day.
I spent the next few hours trying to figure out how I was going to tell my husband I wanted a divorce. I was terrified of his reaction. I thought about writing him a letter, packing up our stuff, and leaving. I realized if I did that, he would probably come looking for me. I decided that my best course of action was to confront him directly and honestly and pray that I would see my kids again.
Over the years, I had become close friends with my neighbor's wife. I went next door and told her what I was planning on doing that evening. I asked her to call the police if she heard or saw anything that might indicate that my husband was becoming violent. She agreed to be my guardian angel.
I still had a couple of hours until my husband was due home from work. I knew the passing of that time would be agonizingly slow. I can't remember everything going through my mind during that time, but suffice it to say that I had a few bursts of courage, a few anxiety attacks...lost my nerve over and over, regained it, and prayed to God for strength and His protection.
I remember every little detail of our conversation...his facial expressions...the way he smelled like he'd been drinking all afternoon...the way my voice sounded foreign to my own ears. It was like watching a movie of someone else's life.
I was totally unprepared for his reaction. His reaction was no reaction at all. He simply said, "OK", put on his coat and left. He moved out the following week. I filed for divorce several months later.
During that time, I sank into a four month long, maniacally depressive, bulimic binge. While I felt free for the first time in my life, I also felt like my world had fallen apart. I felt lost and so very much alone. It was a financially devastating time for me. I soon discovered that my husband had a massive credit card debt and I was forced to file bankruptcy in order to protect myself.
My bulimia continued to rage out of control. I was purging at least a half dozen times a day, sometimes until my throat bled. I needed help.
I started making phone calls in search of a rehab for bulimia who specialized in eating disorders. Fortunately, I was able to find Earl and he helped me get quick admission into the Marbella eating disorder treatment center. I made an appointment and started residential rehab for my bulimia within days.
Looking back at that part of my life, I find it hard to believe that person was me. Dealing with my bulimia is a daily struggle, but I'm slowly making my way down the road of recovery. I have good days and bad, and I'm finding that as time goes on, I'm learning to recognize and overcome some of those urges that seemed so uncontrollable in the past.
When I fail at control, I don't berate myself because I've failed. I look forward to tomorrow as a new day, and I tell myself that I'm strong enough to begin again...
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