I've been debating whether or not to publish this post for quite some time. It's certainly not a very uplifting or happy post. It's guaranteed not to make you laugh. After some contemplation, I decided that everyone is well aware that life isn't always funny; that it can be rather serious at times. I'm being serious right now. I also know that while some people are very open about their struggles and grief, many others suffer alone. I keep my personal door half open. While I might not want to share every last detail of my issues with the world, the opportunity for discussion is there - for my own healing, and for the possibility that someone else may recognize and address their own struggles because of something that I have said. Even if you feel absolutely isolated, chances are that someone out there can relate to you and help.
This year, National Eating Disorder Awareness week is Feb 26-March 3rd. That's a while away, but it's something that I think about almost daily. It's something that I've struggled with off and on, to various degrees, pretty much my entire life. I don't keep the fact that I have grappled with anorexia and bulimia a secret. Spend a little time with me, or just read my blog, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that I have an unbalanced perspective in regards to food and body image. Most of the details of my disorder are a non-issue now - just gruesome, valueless particularities. I don't frequent those behaviors any more, and frankly, I am quite ashamed of what I have done. Shame does not keep me from acknowledgement, however. Just like the other struggles I have endured, battling an eating disorder was also a necessary evil. I am aware now of what I was doing, what I am doing, and what others are going through.
I can remember being terribly ashamed of my body starting in 3rd grade. I recall sneaking food out of the cupboard so that I could secretly eat in the basement starting around the time I was 8 or 9 years old. I bought my first pack of diet pills at a local pharmacy when I was 12, the summer after 6th grade. All through junior high and high school I would limit my food intake and exercise as much as possible. Towards the end of my high school career, I found ipecac syrup. Oh my was that a disgusting and violent way to purge! It has a maple flavor to it, and I couldn't eat pancake syrup until I was well into my 20's, just from the association.
By college, my bulimia was in full swing, and I reached the peak of my disorder my junior year at Allegheny. I was vomiting multiple times every day, taking laxatives, diet pills, smoking like a chimney, and exercising as much as I could take. And no, I wasn't skinny. I wasn't fat, but I certainly wasn't rail thin, not when I was at my worst. It's a common misconception that everyone with an eating disorder looks like a skeleton. Not true. In fact, people struggling with bulimia are often of average weight, or even have a little to spare. Many people who are obese have eating disorders too. I have had times since college where my weight dipped way down. At my lowest, I was 102, right after my first marriage. I wasn't vomiting then. I was starving.
Eating disorders are so much more than just a desire to be thin. In fact, the thinness is often little more than a concrete goal behind a slew of other mental health issues. Yes, the media feeds into the problem, but I would never blame Hollywood for the prevalence of eating disorders in the United States. It's just too simple to say I want to look like Demi Moore. More often than not, it's about control and perfection, misdirected coping skills, and depression. It makes a liar out of an honest person. It creates guilt and shame that, when not addressed, lead to more and more extreme behaviors. It's a compulsion, not all together different from a drug addiction. I often found it so ironic that something I created in order to gain control over my life actually ended up controlling my every move. Lost in the abyss of an eating disorder is a terrible place to be. No one chooses it voluntarily. It finds its victims, and often it kills them.
I frequently hear people joking about eating disorders, casually tossing around terminology. I may even join in on the banter, but the truth is that when I hear those things, a little piece of me cringes with shame for what I have done, with guilt for judging another person, and with heartfelt compassion for someone else's grief. I have come to accept that my battle with food is life long. I've done my time, seen therapists, gone through the recovery process. My struggle now is to keep it in check. It would be a lie to say that I haven't had any binge eating and vomiting episodes since my junior year of college. It would also be a lie to say that I haven't tried to starve myself or pushed myself too far at the gym in an attempt to lose weight. I think we all know that my obsession with "healthy" food is simply a substitute for an obsession with unhealthy eating patterns. I am closer to balance now than I ever was, but I know that it is a fine line to walk, a slippery slope. It's a daily check list, a constant log of emotions, and consistent reminders that I can't - I don't want to - end up where I was 15 years ago.
If you know someone with an eating disorder, or have one yourself, I urge you to seek professional help. Like any addiction, you can't fix it on your own. If you know someone who is struggling, try to find a way to speak and act with compassion, without enabling the disorder to continue. It could cost a life.
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