Sometimes forget why I do this, why I try and win, why I ended up like this anyway. Sometimes I think I look fine the way I am, this is all I know, this is how people know me and why would I want to change it? Other times I can’t stand the sight of myself because I look so alien and don’t understand why anyone would do this to themselves.
I used to think anorexia was a disease I wouldn’t mind having because at least you were skinny. I didn’t really understand how stupid that was. I’m not skinny, i’m skeletal. I’m tired and ill and no fun because I have no energy to do anything, I’m filled with self loathing and have spent months in agony from the pain of hunger I inflicted on myself. Skinny isn’t best, skinny is worst because it consumes you. I am not my disease, but I’m not me because my disease controls me. I’m in a no mans land. I used to tell myself I’m not as bad as some other people who are in clinics, but now I’ve come to the point when I can’t keep using that excuse to cover up the fact that this is my self-harm. I can’t pretend I don’t need help because I’m not as bad as them. I’m effectively killing myself and although I don’t want to die I’m not trying to live.
I’m not living – I’m surviving.
When you start out with an idea, a drive, an incentive, it seems possible, you can see the goal and how you’ll get there. The first few steps are easy because you’re filled with an unstoppable force, then you step back to see how far you’ve come, and realize you haven’t really come that far at all.
I don’t want to eat because I’m not hungry, which means I don’t eat – at all. When I feel hungry I ignore it because I’m busy, because I spent years believing that to be so hungry that it hurts was good because I would remain thin, I would become beautiful through pain, no pain no gain.
I wasn’t beautiful, I was gaunt and always tired.
Now I’ve realized I’m no further than I was before. I get hungry and ignore it. I wonder whats the point when I cant do this without help – or can I? I’m too tired to try.
A small breakthrough happened the other day though. I never have an opinion on food, I eat to be alive to enjoy. I was round my partners parents house and his step-dad handed me a fork with a slice of meat on it. It was juicy, it was soft and it was very flavoursome. I told him it was very good as an automatic response of politeness before realizing I had enjoyed it. For the first time I had enjoyed something, I had tasted it, felt its texture in my mouth and not just registered I was eating. There was enjoyment in a small lump of meat. I had tried to enjoy food by eating it slower, taking time to taste all the flavours, feel the texture and actually enjoy it. But this wasn’t even voluntary, this was just an automatic thing. Maybe there is hope?
There are many people around me who have suffered with anorexia, they say its hard but its possible to beat. Somehow I think I underestimated what I have to do. This is probably about more than just food, this is me, this is my psyche and what I have been through. I know my anorexia is me trying to be perfect after a troubled childhood. But there’s always hope. And hope is all I have.