I’m thin again. And I fucking hate it. It’s not been wholly purposeful, but I guess my semi-conscious holds a fair share of responsibility. Somewhere between my full time job, part-time website, freelance writing gigs, supper clubs AND often emotionally challenging relationship (put two people with mental health problems in a room for two weeks and you’ll understand), Eve got lost.
In the three years since I was hospitalised for my anorexia, I’ve never once felt that the threat of uncontrollable weight loss – my previous downfall – was a real threat to my livelihood. Until this month. And before you begin sending me care packages of Oreos and emailing messages of condolences, note that the eventuality that scares me most is of course very unlikely to happen. This time round, denial is not an option.
I foolishly presumed that an ‘acceptable’ weight automatically entered me into the ‘well’ category: I was now at full liberty to continue my life as every other free eater would. I revelled in walking distances previously deemed unsuitable or ‘inappropriate’ and gleefully discarded the collection of safety pins I’d relied upon. People told me I looked ‘well’ and mum finally stopped forcing me to take five packets of biscuits home with me every time I came over for dinner. It lasted just under a year.
Because as it turns out, I’m not just like everybody else and to be perfectly honest – it’s unlikely I ever will be. I can’t skip breakfast a few days on the trot, nor can I adopt an exercise-based hobby. Watching fat-shaming, food-phobic documentaries (you know who I’m talking about) prove especially difficult viewing, and a big, chocolate birthday cake – intended especially for me – will always make me a little bit nervous. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it (it’s my birthday on Wednesday FYI). When I began to merge into the ‘normal’ world of working lunches (I.e sandwich nibble and nothing else), girlish conversation (80% of which revolves around gluten) and fanatical thinness, my self-assured attitude slowly faded in order to fit in with everybody else’s idea of who I was. Under no circumstances did I want my definition to read, ‘girl with the eating disorder’. But my diagnosis doesn’t like to be neglected and it ultimately resurfaces red-faced, incessant and more god damn boring than ever before.
Unlike the bamboozled girl, staggering around in various branches of Tesco, I am now all too familiar with what I stand to lose. The sterile plastic of my NHS mattress and stale, casserole smell of the ward corridor are memories etched in my brain forever – and serve as constant reminders of where I desperately do NOT want to be. For that, at least, my inpatient treatment was helpful.
So, with anxious gusto, I booked an appointment to see my GP. I marched into Tesco, grabbed a tub of strawberry cheesecake Haagen Dazs and whizzed it through the self checkout before my brain could convince me otherwise. I’m avoiding fruit (currently, chocolate is healthier) and every afternoon, at around 5 o clock, I chomp down a calorific cereal bar – a multipack of which has sat untouched in my desk drawer for months. And I’m writing this piece, because at least if you lot all know, I’ve got no where to hide.
Eve, you’re a brave lady. Please know that. I’ve been on the anorexia merry-go-round for more than my life than I’ve been off it and I wish to God we could all find a way to leave it behind for good, and know it was truly religated to the past. One thing I’m learning in my recovery is that, whatever is OK for everyone else just isn’t for me. I need to stay mindful of what I eat but in the opposite way to how it feels the whole of the rest of the world is being. I can’t skip a meal, and I can’t engage in diet related talk or behaviour. All that does is open the door to anorexia which lives in me no matter what I do. I can be as ‘recovered’ as i’ve ever been and it still creeps in – un-noticed for a while, by me and by everyone – and slowly, surely works its insidious way and suddenly, I’m back in it all again. This time around, I understand that’s what happens – and maybe at points in life it will get in but the second I realise I promise myself that I’ll fight the hell out of it again from that second. Not wait until just a bit more has gone, like so many times before. It is OK to slip, it is OK for life to take over and for us to be blind to anorexia’s wily ways but once we realise, we have to know that it’s worth it to fight again. You’re not alone, none of us are. Thank you for being open, and thank you for holding many of us up. Now if we can hold you up, let us know how. xx
I’ve been stuck with a head full of shame the last couple of weeks as my head has been thinking all the right recovery thoughts and my body has been moving constantly, frantically, as the ED demon tries to get me losing weight again. Every time I catch myself I feel ashamed and convinced that I’m not cut out for recovery, but seeing people like you on social media picking themselves up and getting back on track is an endless source of inspiration.
None of us are strong and winning 100% of the time. What’s important is that we recognise when things have turned around and get back on the wagon. Stumbling does not make you a failure. You will get there, you have the strength. 😊 Look after yourself… And enjoy the Haagen Dazs!
I know this was written in May, but I wanted to say how amazing it is that you noticed your slide and realized it cannot happen again. I’d love to know how you are currently doing. Maybe if I read more of your articles I will find out. In any case, I very much relate to all you say and you are spot on: you are NOT like other people with respect to food and movement, I know I’m not. I have been going down that very same rabbit hole and have the exact same reaction. I became cocky, sure that I could now run yet would be able to “eat a ton” to keep my weight stable; eat salad if I “felt like it” and not because I felt like I had to. The sudden resurgence of my bread avoidance was surely a matter of person preference, see, I don’t actually LIKE bread very much. No, no, no. These are all lies. If I/we want to be better for life we cannot avoid ANY foods. Honestly, even salad is a grey area for me. Not sure if I can ever eat it again. I mean, does anyone make salad their actual hand-on-heart choice when faced with a million other more delicious and satisfying options? Anyway, what I am trying to say is that you are not alone and noticing your habits is the first step to stopping them. Keep noticing, keep stopping. Don’t let your eating disorder win, ever.