Admittance - Part Two

If I am being really honest - and true to the romantic in me - I was hopeful that anyone I mentioned my eating disorder to would meet me at my level. Yes G, you’ve cracked it! I, too, take myself for a walk if I have not hit 10,000 steps, I also feel sh*t if my clothes feel tight (and probably eat a bit less because of it). Together we would share our body insecurities - over sugar-free-syrup coffees - laugh about our restrictive rules - whilst asking the barista to remake it - “I said skinny…” - and skip into a diet-culture-free future. Happily Ever After. There is hoping, and there is trying to manipulate a certain response. What I should be saying is, f**k what other people think, you do you, I do not care! I am doing this for me! Deep down I know I wanted to hear this type of reply so that I felt less alone, like the only one, again. I care about their response because I am self-conscious, and looking for connection, and sometimes it feels like I am drowning in it all and I cannot see a way out.

Not to generalise, nobody knows how to deal with mental health, myself included. It is taboo, and personal; some people do not realise the privilege of not having a voice in their head that can turn against them at any moment. I can barely comprehend how my brain and body are enemies, how my eating disorder is my best friend. Perhaps why the majority of us living with one bury it and stay silent. An eating disorder is hard to explain at the best of times - a jumble of self-loathing and fear of sugar and wanting toned arms to make you like me more - so it is easier not to. And ever since I first lost significant weight in 2011 to the present day, as with anything impressionable, I am conscious the eating disorder has branded me. I come packaged with “issues”, the one with an eating disorder, never without. If not “she seems to be in a good place” then “classic Gabs” for declining dessert, or “overdoing it” by going to the gym (anyone else though - fine). True to an extent - I have fluctuated over the past - more likely it is all in my head (now that is classic Gabs). Roleplaying what in actuality is not happening. Hearing questions and interpreting them as (probing, intrusive) anything but harmless. Naturally it snowballs into concerns around my wider lifestyle. Running a business alone, is that really best for your mental health? Probably not. Time to pack it in? Cannot even go there. Then I get a job at the gym, which I am genuinely passionate about (genuinely), and yet I feel defensive, like I am being attacked, my answers psycho-analysed. My guard is up and I do not want to be asked how often I workout because, yes, maybe I am a bit addicted to exercise still - aren’t we all?

I knew the risk of admitting to an eating disorder and I took it anyway. I was sick of hiding; I had tried to get away with it for nearly a decade and that got me nowhere beneficial - an awful lot of time to spend on something that is not working. At this stage I had nothing more to lose, almost like I lost all care and patience for what happened next; the self gain could only be better. But also I felt powerless in my body. I was forced to admit - speaking out - writing - it is the only way I felt I could have a voice and take control back from the eating disorder. Blocking it out is how you get bitter - and I am at times. It does not seem fair that anyone can live with one, go through its turmoil of hell, let it consume so much of them for it to remain completely unseen. Out of sight, out of mind, slip back into society as though it never existed, and two weeks later I am back to agreeing with my friends that I too need to start the week ‘healthy’ (and immediately kick myself for it). I try, really, to not let my own sensitivity and fragility get in the way of relationships and/ or conversations. But for someone to nod along in acknowledgement of my insecurities, like they get it, only to then highlight their weekend of “eating like a pig, I’ve got to, got to go to the gym tomorrow - it’s Monday”. Duh. It makes me sad how oblivious people can be, I am almost impressed by their ignorance. In no way blaming them, it is not their fault. However ‘normal’ this turn of phrase is to any ‘normal-thinking’ person in everyday ‘normal’ life - this is exactly the kind of diet culture language that unintentionally feeds, triggers, is music to an eating disorders’ ear - personally, I do not want to hear it. And what you just said about that person’s body type is wrong on so many levels, I will not even go there.

I see now how brave it is for anyone to open up and expose their weaknesses when not necessarily everyone around them has. Courage is not the same as having strong mental health; it takes strength to recover; it is even harder to be brave alone. I am thin-skinned and scared at times. I have to have boundaries in place for my own protective measures, to pick and choose what I share and be selective about who I share it with. The tendency to lie is born out of fear; this is my life I am offering as a way of relief from my own destruction and in return for nothing. It is only afterwards when I am sitting at home or lying in bed and anxious thoughts refuse to let me sleep - that is when I overthink everything I said. I worry I said too much, what intimate details they now know, my own words make me feel vulnerable - and are they talking about me to someone else? Losing my period was where I drew the line, only two people knew from way back when I first lost it - inadmissible physical proof of how far I went to maintain my body image. The only one other time I alluded to it, all very vague, my friend replied, I didn’t know it got that bad. I wanted to take it back, I wish I had not said anything, swallowed my words; all I could think about was how bad it is, still - but I kept that to myself.

The biggest reality check is, not a single person turned to me and said, you must be so excited about freedom. Never, “you bought bigger jeans to celebrate living a happy diet-free life (hurrah)!” (More like, better you than me). A perspective I had never thought about. Breaking out of diet culture’s cage, no longer living up to body expectations like an ornament to be looked at, claiming back my body and own free will. The opposite of something to feel threatened by - I thought inspiring - and yet it must present itself as one, because why is no one joining me?