Amends

I am not myself when I am active in my eating disorder. Like any addiction, it takes over. The thinner I get, the sicker I become, the more my true self gets buried. This time around I took a real hit. I don't have a very clear picture of the last few months. I functioned well, practically speaking - my house was clean, my job was done well, my kids' homework was turned in. Superficially, I was okay. Emotionally, spiritually, and physically, I was suffering. I don't remember many conversations, how I acted, how I treated the people I love. I imagine things weren't great.

Once I (and most people who have battled anorexia) cross a certain point - a line in the sand, be it a specific weight or BMI or duration of symptoms - I lose the ability to recognize the danger I'm in, fight for my survival, or even relate to the people around me. I didn't only cross that line this time, I leapt over it. I am not attempting to make excuses for the exhausting, frightening, probably infuriating situation my disorder has placed my friends and family in. After all, I was in a perfectly reasonable head space way back when I initially decided to "cut back a little." However, it is important for me to explain that I reached a point where I lost touch with myself and the world.

To those who read this, to my family, to my dear friends, and to any folks out there unfortunate enough to have an ill loved one who has caused pain: I offer these amends.

I have lied. I have told you that I was fine when I was anything but. I played the, "I ate before I came, I had a big breakfast, I'm not feeling well, I only look thin because of this outfit" game. When you saw through it, I got angry. I became defensive and lashed out because your concern posed a threat to my disease. You reminded me that I was doing something I shouldn't be doing, and my eating disorder didn't want me to get that message. When I became more malnourished, I simply couldn't think straight. I became obsessive about food. Maybe I cooked for you, asked you about your meals, watched you eat. I was hungry and I ate through you. I brushed off your worry, attempted to pacify you with untruths, and resented your helpful intent. I may have been rude or inappropriate. Any way to steer you away from the truth of my disease was acceptable to me.

I am sorry. I am sorry that I have taken you for granted. I am sorry that I have caused you pain, that you have been afraid for me, that you received my misplaced anger. I am sorry that you may have wondered what you could've done differently. The truth is this: anorexia - like chemical dependency or alcoholism for others - will not stop until it drives everybody I love away and eventually kills me. Only I can stop it, and I took important and meaningful steps to do that over the last month. I am not a bad person trying to get good, I am a sick person trying to get well. I hope that you can accept my sincere apology, and even if you can't, I hope you can accept that I am grateful for all the love you've shown me.