A Story, and a Reminder

Disclaimer: this post does not contain a recipe. This post is about my eating disorder and recovery. It's a heavy read, so feel free to skip it.

I still struggle with food, even today. Some days I wake up and don't feel like eating at all. I wonder what happened to the skeletal girl with so much 'self-control'. I look in the mirror and cry at what I see. It's still there, lurking. And some days, try as I might, I can't get that voice to shut up, go away, revert back into the nothingness it once was, years ago. I always believed my eating disorder, or Ed. It tore me to shreds, but I believed him. I hung on to his every word, knowing that my body was no longer mine. It was his. For months, I struggled to keep up the image of progress, while I lost myself more and more each day. I wanted to get better, but I wanted to go lower. I wanted to look good, and depending on the day, "good" meant anything from healthy to skeletal. More often than not, I was hypnotized by the illusion that the more weight I lost, the more perfect my life would be. But it was a lie. It was all a lie. This flawless, ideal life I thought I led was just a mask for the hell that I endured each day.

It's tough to live with this day to day. Contrary to popular belief, recovery IS in fact a daily process. Anorexia is not something that just goes away like that once you've reached your goal weight. There's a reason why it's called a mental illness. It eats away at you, while forcing you to eat less. And then it withers whatever is left of your sanity away, eventually taking over your whole body and mind. It is a parasite. Ed, that is. That's what I call my eating disorder, anyway. It slowly, but actively kills you.

I don't mean to sound grim, but that's the raw truth of it. For me it is, anyway. I'm lucky enough to be at a point in my recovery that these days are slim.

Some things I live with today, I wonder if they weren't previously created by Ed that I had somehow internalized--like my lactose intolerance. I had always been terrified of cream, heavy cream. So I suppose I suddenly decided I couldn't have it anymore. I stopped having dairy slowly, and now I can't even have pizza without feeling nauseous. Was this really because of genetics, or because of Ed? There are so many of these that are still a part of my life that I'm realizing are because of my eating disorder. Healthy habits that Ed has tainted: drinking multiple cups of water per day, eating slowly, taking sips of water in between bites, listening to hunger cues and deciding whether or not they're 'worth it.' Ed has even destroyed mindful eating for me, which is why I'm going to a mindful eating retreat this summer to perhaps revive the proper mindset of this tactic.

On Wednesday, for my final project in a cultural psychology class, I read a paper. A paper I had written a year ago and had since edited. It could be called A Day in the Life. I've always been fairly open about my eating disorder, but this was the first time I had read something so personal out loud to a class of people I didn't know too well, some I didn't know at all. I shook while I read it, tearing up at parts that I both wished I could go back to and was relieved I could call my past. These were parts that I could not believe, in my rational mind, I had done. Things that made no logical sense, but things I did do. Things like living off of 1,400 calories...a week. Exercising until I passed out. Blacking out for periods of time in class and thinking that wasn't a problem. Eating three bites of watered-down broth and calling it a meal.


But the paper was met with approval, and I was glad I read it. Several people told me how courageous I was for reading it, and how much it helped them and opened their eyes. I was happy.

Truth be told, I don't believe that 'full' recovery is possible. But there is such a thing as maximum recovery. Days where you can wake up and just say "you know what, I'm gonna have a good day today!" I don't punish myself when I have setbacks! I simply reward myself when I don't. How do I do this? I give myself a sentence I deserve to hear, not something that Ed would say. I say "Thank you" to myself.


I know I'm recovering because some days, I wake up and feel great about myself. I look in the mirror and I do not see a whale, and I can smile. I eat normal meals and don't purge. I don't hope for a utopian recovery. I know this is not possible. All I can hope for is that the "thank you"s get more and more frequent, and that my sanity trumps Ed.


I bought this sign at Marshalls the other day (pictured at the end of this post). It's something my mother has been saying to me for quite some time, and I think I've finally internalized it. Sure, I may weigh more than I did a couple years ago, but damn, I work it. If there's one thing I pride myself on, it's that I always look classy. I love getting dressed up. Some people ask me why I dress so fancily for class, and I just respond, "Because I feel good when I do it."


That's the key to recovery--finding what's right for you, whether it be food, clothes, beauty, or mind. I encourage you to find your own niche, and then rock it. Perfection in itself is not perfection. It is not attainable. Imperfections remind us of who we are--unique individuals. You can either blend in with the crowd, or stand out and make an impression. I choose to make an impression...most of the time (for example, today I am not making an impression as I plan to stay in my room and in my pajamas until 9 PM).


My parents and grandpa are coming on Sunday, and I intend to show them just how far I've come!!


Much love,
Carina