But when I went back to school that changed.
You see, while in the hospital I had gained a lot of weight. I was actually healthy-looking, but I thought I was obscenely overweight.
I just felt there was no other way but to stop taking insulin. I felt helpless and stupid because I knew what I was doing and I really didn't care, I just wanted to be thin so badly.
In March of 2005 I was in DKA for the fifth time. It took longer than the times before because the school has worked out a plan with my mom that if I didn't go to the health aide's office to take insulin during school then I'd get detention. There was more of a record being kept.
I stayed in the hospital for a week and then was back home. However it was mandatory that I saw a psychologist from then on.
I made it through the summer, but the skipping insulin was worse than ever. By the beginning of my sophomore year I was incredibly thin, but I was having trouble walking to school. I'd have to stop every five minutes to catch my breath and things just got worse from there. Eventually, walking across a room got too hard to do.
I always felt like there was never enough oxygen to fill my lungs or enough water to keep me from being thirsty. I would throw up in between classes, take some insulin, and then go to class like everything was fine. I didn't look fine -- teachers thought I was a drug addict because I was so thin and I had dark circles under my eyes. I slept all the time and I just wanted to die.
November of 2005 was probably the worst bout of DKA out of the six. My mom was out shopping and my boyfriend was over. I kept throwing up every five minutes, so he called my doctor who said "call 9-1-1" and he did. The problem was that my mom had lost her cell phone so we couldn't contact her, and when the ambulance came they brought me to a hospital I don't usually go to.
This hospital wouldn't treat me because I was a minor and they needed parental consent. But I started showing specks of blood in my vomit, and that's when the doctors decided to treat me.
When I was finally stable enough to be transferred to my normal hospital I was in pretty bad shape.
I was in the ICU, and it was the first time that they wouldn't let me get up to go to bathroom. Let me tell you something, it's quite embarrassing to be 15 years old and have a nurse that you know have to hold a bed pan underneath you.
When my mom got to the hospital they told her that she might want to stay because they didn't know if I would make it through the night. I spent 10 days and another Thanksgiving in a hospital.
After that I was determined to stay out of DKA. People really started to believe that I was getting better because I was staying out of the hospital. This was only because I was finding ways that kept me out of the hospital but still allowed me to lose weight. I misused my insulin and cut back on my eating. Every once and while I would throw up, and I still couldn't walk long distances. But staying skinny was really all I cared about.
Then on April 17, 2006 I found myself in DKA yet again. I didn't know it then, but that day would be a day that would change my life forever.
It was the final straw for my doctors and my parents. Everyone knew that if they didn't do something drastic I wouldn't live to see 20. At 16 I was already beginning to show signs of diabetic complications in my kidneys and my legs, and by that point my self-esteem was close to none. Every doctor was in agreement that if I went home and back to school the DKAs would keep occurring and the next DKA could be my last.
I stayed in the hospital for 54 days as everyone searched for some place that would help me overcome this huge thing that had taken complete control over my life.
A treatment center was found for me but it was in Virginia. It really looked like the only place that would be able to help me though, because it specialized in treating diabetics with "diabulimia." It was the only thing left in the attempt to save me.
On June 6, 2006 I said good-bye to my friends and my family and made my way to "Cumberland." I was very scared and angry at first. I felt like my mother had abandoned me and couldn't believe that I was being sent away.
Living there was strange. I had never really met so many other diabetics that were dealing with the same situation that I was dealing with, and it just made me feel like I wasn't alone in my struggle anymore.
The hardest part was when I had left Hawaii for Virginia, I promised my two best friends that I would be back. But after some soul searching and some help from my mother, I realized that unless I could really "start fresh" I would never be able to truly escape this haunting downward spiral I kept putting myself on.
So I decided to stay in Virginia with my dad. On August 31, 2006 I left Cumberland's doors for good.
Cumberland offered many different therapeutic programs, including individual, family, and group therapy. While individual and family therapy was helpful, I think that the most helpful for me was group therapy because before I had always felt so alone in the feelings I had towards what was happening to me and it was the first time in my life that peers felt a similar way.
So now I put the 8th grade picture of me away and look at my most recent picture; this is the face I know as mine. I'm smiling and I'm truly happy in this picture -- and I'm healthy.
There are some days that are harder than others, but as I'm sitting here now I've just completed my second Thanksgiving in a row that HASN'T been in a hospital. In April it will be 2 years since my last DKA, and I'm looking forward to a future that two years ago I never would've thought possible.
Editor's note: If you are struggling with an eating disorder, or believe a friend is, there are resources to get help:
From the National Eating Disorders Association, a list of eating disorder information.
Also from the NEDA, a list of resources, listed by state, where you can get help.
The Hospital Where Tressa Got Help: Cumberland
Article from Salon.com on diabulimia
