Today I Learned

Today I learned that the daughter of a family friend has anorexia. Readers with a passing acquaintance of myself will know that I, too, have faced this demon. My immediate response to the news was a crack in my heart - even the anonymous girls I see around campus tug at me when I cross their paths. To have this happen to someone I know - to a girl I watched grow up - is particularly wrenching.

There's so much I want to say, both to her and her family. There's so little I know about their situation. I only know about myself, and my situation.

I want to say that anorexics are intelligent people frightened of themselves and the world.
I want to say that anorexia is a way of breaking the familial bond, of asserting independence.
I want to say that screaming, and crying, and yelling and endlessly driving in the car will help...over time.

Anorexia is not a cancer; it doesn't grow in the flesh. Anorexia is the result of a fearful mind mastering imperfect matter. Anorexics seek perfection in the world and take out their disappointment on themselves. Anorexia is a hatred of self and others - but mostly self. It is a demand for space, acknowledgement, and agency.

I write these words because they seem honest. They might not be. I'll acknowledge that; my own experience has begun to fade, with time and love and therapy easing the scars back into some semblance of smooth skin. But, I cannot forget that I lived this nightmare and worse, that I forced others to live it with me.

We do not intend to hurt and deny the ones that love us. We simply cannot see anything beyond our own self-loathing. I dislike metaphors that paint cancer or horrific accidents as an opportunity for personal growth (an excess of positivity isn't in my nature) but, in some cases - certainly my own - I think the metaphor is justified. I changed as a result of my anorexia. I learned what kind of person I am under the social mask. It was unpleasant, often brutal, but change isn't pleasant. Change isn't easy. For some of us, for those of us intelligent enough to see the vast scope of possibility, the only way we can handle change is by turning it into a monster we can fight.

Anorexia is both monster and fight: it is the product of a terrified mind trying to establish boundaries. Anorexia is about control; it is about development; it is about personal understanding.

Until I am the one loving someone seemingly bent on destroying herself, I cannot tell you the other side of this story. What I can do is offer advice, little things that will help make the anorexic seem rational and human and perhaps lessen - or soften - the overall experience.

Avoid adjectives. Ethereal, fey, elegant, pretty, slender - avoid confirming adjectives as you'd avoid offensive ones. They stick in the mind and fester, providing the disease with impetus.

Listen to the screams. Highly intelligent, highly controlled individuals do not let themselves go easily. When they do, it's because the pressure has become unbearable. They will be relieved; they will feel exhausted afterwards. A quiet, consistent presence will be most beneficial, despite the blank, emotionless, or physically ill response. Listen without judgment. This is hard. Being judged is harder.

Acknowledge defeat, but don't give in to it. Every morning is a victory and a new beginning. Every meal is a battle between two sets of scales. The scale of desire will always weigh more. The only way to recover is to want to recover.

The only way to recover is to want to recover. Think of what a confession by torture is worth. Now think of what being forced into recovery is worth to the anorexic. She must do the work, suffer the guilt and the pain and the fury. She must choose to change.

Learn to let go. This one is probably the hardest for both parties. Personal understanding comes from destruction as much as growth; mistakes must be made, consequences must be felt. Anorexia is learning how painful and fruitless the pursuit of perfection truly is. I had to learn that I am more than my body. My mother had to learn that she can't fight all my battles.

Get help early, and choose that help well. Trust the person you choose to know their job, to know the signs, and to make the hard decisions. They are there to help. They will be your sanctuary and your drill sergeant, but in the end they will help you find the straight road again.

I think, in some ways, we do this to ourselves in order to shed a stubborn skin. People who are resistant to change require an enormous incentive to accept it - this incentive changes constantly, a process that slowly teaches the individual to let go of absolutes and embrace reality. In the beginning, my incentive was to lose weight, to get in shape. Then the incentive was to prove to my mother that I ate a certain number of calories. Then it became the maintenance of a routine. Eventually, I lost control of my routine as my body circumvented the demands of my mind. No one chooses to starve; it's something our bodies do in response to environmental alterations. One can choose to restrict food intake or increase activity, but starvation is a natural response.

I spent a lot of time avoiding thinking about anorexia. I spent a lot of time trying to go backwards, to be the person who counted every goldfish and saw every lump of flesh, real or imagined. I made the mistake of thinking this was happiness. At the time, it might have been, but it pales in comparison to what I have learned and experienced since.

Humans are durable because they are stubborn. We do not want to die. No one wants to die. We do not want to acknowledge change, so we subsume that fear in others. You can't panic about the future if your sole focus is the number of calories in that steak, or the number of hours you ran, or the number of pounds the scale registered.

I am making this up as I go. It's midnight, and I am balancing three separate worlds in my head and on the tips of my fingers. One is the world I remember. Two is the world of what I've learned. Three is the world as it is right now, right here in my bed in a house in the most beautiful country on earth.

I guess my last words are just to...remember what anorexia is and is not. It's not a punishment; it is a way of handling change. It's not an invitation to Death; it is a way of altering perspectives.

Hold onto hope. If hope is impossible...well, I hope that you're stubborn enough to always hope.
Wanting to recover is the hardest part. The rest is a dangerous, beautiful routine.

WolfGrrl