I’ll be honest -- I’m not comfortable with where this letter is going. I hate the thought of any eyes but my own reading my words, uncovering my thoughts or diving into my fixations and trying to understand my tendencies. However, I hope that's exactly what you do when reading this.
I wish I could introduce my guest of honor with some sort of overwhelmingly magical, thought-provoking and never-before-seen assortment of words to knock the socks right off of you, but chances are (about one in 10, to be exact), you have already met. Instead, let’s play dumb for a moment and start from the beginning.
Dearest reader, I’d like to introduce you to my high-school best friend.
My eating disorder.
I’m not going to bore with you some overly-romanticized version of what life is like with body image issues. Chances are, if you are even slightly human, you understand what it is like to stand in front of a mirror at one time or another and pick out things you wish you could change about yourself. I’m not going to throw some heartbreaking “I didn’t love myself enough” anecdote at you, because, again, we’ve all had times when we have chosen to overlook the thousands of amazing qualities we hold within ourselves, and instead obsess over the one or two mistakes we’ve made, or choices we wish we could re-do.
But I will do this: I’ll tell you what tumblr won’t explain to you, what your guidance counselors won’t preach; what your friends won’t admit. I’ll tell you what it’s like to live in hell.
Eating disorders are quite the conundrum. You feel an overwhelming sense of willpower -- a certain inner knowledge of your mind's ability to control every aspect around you; whether it be the type of food you eat (calling you out, orthorexia), the ability to welcome your food back into the world (holla at you, bulimia) or your ability to maintain some type of portion control only your brain has the capacity to understand (subtweet at anorexia) - just to name-drop a few. However, it is this idea of willpower and self-control that you have lost all ability to grasp, a continuous cycle of manipulation that eventually leaves you on your ass, your body in shambles, your mind in pieces, and your sense of individuality a lost cause.
It's hard to explain what exactly it is like to be eating disordered, but I'll give it my best shot.
Eating disorders are waking up in the middle of the night so you can do another body check in the mirror.
Eating disorders are staying in on a Friday night just in case your friends decide to order food while they are all hanging out together.
Eating disorders are thinning hair.
Eating disorders are driving to every single party you attend, just so you have an excuse to stay away from consuming any calories.
Eating disorders are cooking your own dinner while your family eats together because you don't know the exact nutritional value of their meal.
Eating disorders are trying on seventeen different outfits because you hate the way your hips/thighs/arms/etc. look in each possibility.
Eating disorders are planning out your meals for the next seven days when you should be taking notes in class.
Eating disorders are knowing that there are exactly 76 calories in the apple you've been eyeing, but only nine calories in the hot sauce and celery you really should be eating instead.
Eating disorders are panic attacks you have when you're forced to eat something "bad" for you.
Eating disorders are over-exhaustion from burning over a thousand calories in the gym just so you can somewhat enjoy your dinner.
Eating disorders are waking up with panic and tears because you dreamed that you had a slice of pizza.
Eating disorders are weighing yourself eight times a day, just to make sure you haven't ruined your image.
Eating disorders are a constant feeling of hatred toward yourself.
Eating disorders are a feeling of thirst that can never be quenched, a feeling of fatigue that can never be excused.
Eating disorders are constant thoughts of judgement, secrecy, self-inflicted pain, un-manageable hatred, extreme isolation and unbearable sadness.
Eating disorders are committing a subtle suicide, each and every day.
Eating disorders are something you become. They are your identity. You are no longer a person - you are a disease.
Oh, and did I mention you get to sleep, eat, walk, study, talk, breathe and do anything else your [damaged] heart desires while having a voice within the context of your own mind speak to you, telling you all the things you should/should not be doing, how you look/how you could look better, and why you don't deserve to eat/do/say what you so desire? But don't call me crazy.
In fact, I know I wasn't crazy -- I was ill. It is crucial you understand something: you do not choose to be disordered. This is an inner disease with outwardly displayed side effects. Although it is, for some reason unbeknownst to me, romanticized through popular sites such as tumblr and Instagram, there is nothing, and I repeat nothing, cute and adorable about starvation, purging, obsessions over "good" foods versus "bad" food, or running 10 miles just to burn off that spoonful of peanut butter you ate for breakfast.
We tend to shy away from talking about these "sensitive" issues, because we are uncomfortable with which we are unaware. But its time to talk, time to understand, and time to get real. So enough of commenting "skinny" on a picture, as if it brings sincere validation to an individual. Enough idiolizing the unrealistic figure of health we seem to have adopted through media, and stop assessing your own self-worth based on anything other than values naked to the eye.
I can report this with confidence, because somehow, through the confusion that came with my illness, I was able to force myself to see the bigger picture. Life is too damn short to settle for anything less than happiness, and while it takes forcing (yes, forcing) yourself to strive for health, the ability to succeed is so incredibly sweet and wonderful, that I could not imagine going back to a life without it.
That's what recovery is. Recovery is happiness. Recovery is enjoying college at 3:30 a.m. with your best friends. Recovery is dancing around in your room because you have decided to look beyond any worry of judgement or your image. Recovery is allowing yourself to become honest, vulnerable, and understood. Recovery is being comfortable with who you are, what you are, where you are, and what is to come. Recovery is love. Recovery is peace. Recovery is health. And, most importantly, recovery is possible.
I didn't want you to read this letter. I didn't even want to write it, because putting words to a page is a lot more than silent thoughts - something I used to think was synonymous with weakness. Even more-so, I felt embarrassment for admitting all that I just did. Key word: felt. And I say this, because honestly, as I sit here, wrapping up this long letter, I'm surprised (and appreciative) that you're still reading, I feel nothing less than proud. Because, in my ability to write this letter lays what anyone who has ever battled a disorder desires to be able to say: I won.
I don't know what you'll get out of all of this, but if I can make a recommendation, it is this: the next time you are walking through your school hallway, campus, office, or whatever location you find yourself, think of the people you pass as stories, rather than just another face in the crowd. Think of where he or she has been, experienced, faced, endured; what has been cried over, celebrated, laughed at, mourned for. Think of his or her body as a work of art, rather than a public display of allowance of judgement. Then think of your own, and all that it has allowed you to do and to become.
Personally, since deciding to respect myself, this body has been through two half-marathons, a spartan race, and a tough mudder. This body is strong. This body has been through two surgeries and seven months of physical therapy. This body is resilient. This body has witnessed overwhelming love and undeniable heartbreak. This body is wise. This body has hugged the figure of a deceased parent, a widowed husband and a mother-less sister. This body is tough. This body has walked the campus of its dream school while gaining an education for a dream career. This body is empowered.
This body has endured an eating disorder, and now, this body is mine, and this body is free.
