The Simple Truth

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.”

-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

There’s something about the word ‘anorexia’ which horrified me, probably because of the mental images attached to it that attack my mind every time the word rings in my ears. The stereotype affiliated with the disorder shows adolescent girls refraining from eating, to satisfy the image in their mind regarding how they should look.

To an extent, the preconceived notions that an observer holds regarding an anorexic person might be true. In my almost-case, I could go as far as saying they were partially accurate. It’s an ignorant conviction that anorexia is gender or age specific, but I fit the stereotype as well as stereotypes can be fit. No amount of well-meaning songs or movies centring around the concepts of inner beauty could convince me that I did not need this.

It’s a struggle to try to make someone comprehend what it felt like when I began: It’s like when you’re doodling in the middle of a lecture, and the shape of your drawing refuses to resemble what it’s supposed to and your pen refuses to coordinate with your mental image. The chaotic lines cause you to cringe and attempt to strike out your creation.

That is what it was like to look into a mirror.

Then you’re constantly on the edge, like when your shoes are painfully high and you’re climbing down a steep staircase, knowing that the slightest lapse of attention could cause your downfall.

It’s a game of tic-tac-toe with your body, having your tactics organised and knowing to what limits you can push it to.

No matter how much you strategise, lapses are inevitable. Your body will sell you out: hey, you betrayed it, you refused to take care of it, and you think it’s on your side? This is when you know you might be caught and forced to go back, to get rid of your ‘progress’. People are only selectively ignorant. They jump at the chance to either help or humiliate you, either way, they are a hindrance in your plan.

Then there was the terrifying temporary truth: It seemed to work. I was happier, I looked better, my teenage vanity was almost satisfied, I felt like a new person, a better person. It’s absolutely absurd how human mentality works, isn’t it?

There came a point where it still wasn’t enough. You put your all in it, every little ounce of willpower you possess, and then you wake up, and you’re empty.

You gained nothing.

The problem with my planning, my methods and my mentality seemed complex and incomprehensible to me at the time, but in the end, it was the simplest of answers. You see, every manoeuvre of mine was a fight against my body, and ultimately, against my happiness.

A common misconception is that temporary elation is synonymous with happiness. Oh, it’s not. Honestly, it’s closer to the other side.

It’s been about a year since I discovered that there was truly something very wrong with me.

The hardest part for me was not learning how to eat properly again, but accepting the fact that I, who prided myself on being above futile self-absorption, fell victim to this level of vanity.

Denial is an insane state to be in. It’s not as if you don’t know the glaring facts, you do, you do. They’re hidden in some seemingly negligible corner of your mind and at painfully regular intervals, keep knock-knock-knocking and trying to squeeze through the crevices you are trying so hard to keep shut. There is no mind door, however, which is capable of abstaining from the inevitable truth for too long.

The gates were thrown wide open, the thoughts came flooding in, my tenacity’s direction changed.

You have a common, typical problem. You are not above common, typical problems. Accept your common, typical problem.