…………………………***TRIGGER WARNING***…………………………
………………………***EATING DISORDER TALK***………………………
Again, I do not write this asking for pity or help, rather to share my experience in order to help readers in any way possible. Sometimes it just helps to feel understood; sometimes it helps to know the possible consequences of one’s condition.
I write this article based on my 7 year journey with eating disorders. It is rather depressing to think about, and I dislike writing about it, but as my body decays, the stories it has to tell may prevent another from doing so.
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I faintly remember how it feels to not be stressed about food or eating. To not have tears build up when you are made to eat a certain thing, no anxiety when I need to eat at a restaurant, the worry about when I will be able to find a restroom alone.
Why don’t I just stop?
Why don’t I just quit?
Why don’t I just eat?
Why don’t I just exercise?
Dear! Dear! Listen to me!!!!!
Eating disorders… They are NOT physical disorders; they are psychological disorders that originate not only at the brain, rather in our genes, from our experiences, our beliefs, our upbringing. Dear, understand, please, that you are not a failure because you cannot see food, you cannot feel towards it as other people do.
Dear! Dear! Listen to me!!!!!
Eating disorders… They do not originate out of the wish of death. They do not continue as a way for slow suicide. They originate out of the lack of fight skills for predators that we find ourselves prey to. They continue as a path for survival.
I do not remember a time in my life where food was just that, food.
I do not know about the first six years of my life.
Though I do know of the comments that were always made as I had a second serving.
Though I do know of the focus on my figure rather than the war that was slowly forming within me.
Though I do know of the tears I shed every night as a child as I wrote down my wishes for death.
Some people, they do not have a childhood.
I think perhaps, I did indeed have one.
But I do not think it was me that experienced it.
I was always told to be who I was.
But what me is there when it is not I that is living.
But what me is there when it is not I that is leading my brain.
But what me is there when it is not I that enjoys my hobbies.
But what me is there when it is not I that talks. But what me is there when whenever I chose to show it was told down and shamed for existing.
I am sad for me.
Me, I, myself, dear I am so sorry.
I am so sorry for not ever being here for you, body and soul.
As you loved everyone with your very own heart which you gave to all except for yourself.
Dear I, perhaps love is an verb that I might decay without ever relating to you, but perhaps I can allow you to live until I no longer am, perhaps I can keep you alive through the words I publish.
How dare you shame our survival mechanism when you have never seen our predators, ones that made us believe that they were on our side. Even if love was what originated the actions it can never be love alone, as if one was to see the sole purpose of love it is care and the loved’s well-being.
When one says they love but cause hard to the loved, what non-reflection do you lie is not there?
We all have trauma but it is only us we can blame if we wish not to be aware of them, then it is we to blame when we cause harm to the other party.
I was always treated as an extension of those who acted my guardians.
I do not believe I was ever allowed to be I.
It was always; success as they defined, failure as they thought existed, love as they allowed to be shown, punishment as a good when they forced it.
I think those who ae not allowed to exist as them eventually die as they act upon their existence, I believe that is due to their whole life being lived in a short amount of time which is why they live that long because what is death to exist when living was never the action to be taken.
And those who never live as them eventually have their stored selves live in forms of writing and singing.
I have had an eating disorder for about 7 years, as it started as some hybrid of Anorexia, it mostly existed as Bulimia.
Do I not feel the effects? Do I not live the hell that seeps within these disorders?
Dear I do, but imagine what hell there is to fight when this hell is the one I choose to help me?
“You are not religious enough?” I am told
Oh really? And what god are you to judge me in such a manner? As I only believe in the one and only and it happens not to be you!
It needs to be understood that eating disorder are methods in which we try to survive. Not all of us live around love or stability. And some suffers do, and yet still die from their eating disorders.
Understand that you do not understand and do not judge as your judgements may decide execution upon one’s hope.
I remember the endless nights through which food was the only company, the only warmth, the only “it shall pass, it shall be okay.”
I remember the endless days through which the relief of it exiting my ins was the only “you can handle this, do not practice violence”
the only ice upon magma, which under enough pressure eventually built diamond mines.
How dare you call good upon me when the sole survival weapon I had was the path for which I survived long enough to be called so?
I do not say eating disorders are an option for those looking, I am saying for some it was the only option; option it was not, actually, rather a desideratum.
As we grow up, as we come aware of the effects we need to seek other coping mechanisms and skills.
It does not go from recovery to learning new skills.
Rather we need to slowly start to learn self respect, start to learn what healthy survival hold as conditions and the methods to it, then start taking steps towards life, eventually we learn that an eating disorder is needed to be bid goodbye so complete life can be welcomed.
-Yellow
