Disclaimer: I will use the pronoun "I" rather than "we" in this post, because I can only speak for my own journey. That being said, my sentiments are shared with a great number of eating disorder sufferers, and can likely be applied to many situations.
I am struggling right now to reconcile my distorted body ideal with the reality of my precarious, dangerous medical situation. I have a heart condition. It will probably not get better. It can absolutely get worse. I have been asked by my team (including my medical doctor, my dietitian, and my therapist) to make strides I have only ever made on an in-patient basis. I am at home, with my family, at work, living my day-to-day life. These requests (including, not surprisingly, gaining a fair amount of weight) are challenging. I am not taking them particularly well, to which my husband will readily attest. I am angry. I am bitter. I am scared. I am also willing to do whatever is necessary to preserve my health. It is with this knowledge that I wish to make an appeal to all of the family members and friends of individuals struggling with eating disorders. You are likely afraid, likely confused, possibly mad, probably at a loss. I want to help you help us.
First, know this. "Just eat," is not a phrase that will help me. If this disease were simply a matter of eating, I would not suffer like I do. You may enjoy your meals, may look forward to a dinner with friends or a barbecue with the family, but those things are terrifying to me. Eating - especially in an "indulgent" fashion - represents a loss of control. Eating ceases to be just eating when a person has an eating disorder. It becomes "giving in," or "giving up," or "admitting weakness." Please reserve the simplistic advice.
Second, try to realize that I really do want to get better. Just because I fall down (over and over and over) does not mean I've thrown in the towel. It does not mean that I don't care about you, or my family, or the people who depend on me. It means that this disease is such an entrenched part of my life that I am not sure how to cope with stress without its presence. Life gets difficult for me just like it does for you, but I am not sure how to cope with those difficulties without my go-to behaviors. However destructive they may be.
Third, know that I am still me. Beneath my anger, beneath my defensiveness, beneath my general nastiness (and by God can I be nasty when I'm sick), I'm still the person that you love. I haven't disappeared. I have been buried in my turmoil, preoccupied by my disorder, but I'm still here. My passion, my personality, my potential - it's all still here.
Fourth, please see how much I'm struggling. I tell you that I'm fine, make jokes almost constantly, smile all day long, but that's not my reality. I hurt. I'm lonely. I'm leaning on my disease to give me the support I really crave from the people around me. I may be the life of the party, but the after party is a sad affair indeed.
Fifth, I am truly afraid. I know that what I'm doing is dangerous. I don't have a death wish. Quite the opposite, in fact; I want to be alive, want to be the me that God intended, want to live up to the expectations others - and even more, I - have placed upon me. I am just so scared that I don't have what it takes. I don't want to disappoint you.
Sixth, my body image is not only distorted, it's completely perverted. I have no idea what you see when you look at me. When I look at me, I see excess, fat, failure, a nauseating mass of flesh that doesn't deserve to take up space. Please try to understand that I am not being dramatic - my perception of myself is completely skewed.
I know that these ideas are hard to accept. I understand that you may look upon me and think, "But why? Why can't you see what I see? Why can't you accept how much you are loved?" The answer is simply this: I have been sick for a long time, with a disease more insidious and destructive than most people realize. I love you. I need you. I long for your support. I don't want to push you away. I'm fighting a battle that is more difficult than many people can imagine, and I'm doing the best I can. I appreciate your presence, whether you realize it or not. You are crucial to my recovery, even if the only words you say to me are, "I love you, and I am here." Especially if those are the only words you know how to say.
