By A.C.
When I was younger - maybe 13 or 14 - I had no idea how insidiously an eating disorder could creep into somebody's life, distorting their every thought and belief. I used to be scornful at the very notion of anorexia, thinking that it was surely a disease caused by stupidity. After all, how could anyone possibly think starving themselves was a good idea? There's no point in glossing over this - I was ignorant and harsh, and I'm very thankful that I'm not like that anymore. But even so, I was happy enough with myself back then, albeit with as many insecurities and chinks in my steel as the next girl. I loved to draw, paint, act the eejit, bat my eyelashes at various unattainable boys in the hope of looking alluringly attractive, and generally enjoy my youth.
But at some stage, a sense of shame and darkness came over me and I began to turn away from those positive and healthy aspects of my life. I cannot explain exactly how or why. I have read and heard many accounts given by people whose eating disorders were prompted by horrific neglect and abuse, people whose childhoods were so much more painful than mine, and rather than demystifying the cause of my own problem, it almost made things more confusing. To me, it seemed strange that I never went through any of those horrors, I had a happy childhood surrounded by a loving family... and yet my eating disorder hit me just as suddenly and fiercely, reducing me to tears of despair every day. Maybe it was the isolation I frequently endured during my first two years of secondary school. Or maybe these things can't be explained in any logical or systematic way (as in, this X event led to this Y emotion, etc...) Everybody reacts to events in different ways. What devastates one person might not be a big deal to another.
Even now, with the worst of my problems firmly behind me and a brighter future stretching ahead, I find it hard to actually state aloud that cold scientific term "anorexia/bulimia nervosa", as if there's still a part of me refusing to accept that either of those terms could feasibly refer to me. I didn't want - and I never do want - to identify myself fully with the disease or believe it to be an unchangeable part of me. When I did finally accept the truth - i.e. that I had a serious problem with food - I simply began to think of my condition as "It". I later personified "It" further by imagining a demonic creature, "Nervosa", warping my perception of myself, strangling my confidence, and determined to silence the inner voice which told me that I was beautiful exactly as I was and worthy of love. Nervosa first came to me when I was in Fifth Year, although of course I didn't realise who she was, or what she intended to do to me. At first I began to experience vague thoughts about losing a bit of weight, then my thoughts turned into actions. It was unnoticeable at first - a skipped lunch here, an energetic long walk there - but before I knew it I became locked into a vicious cycle of deprivation, punishing exercise regimes, bingeing, purging, deprivation, exercise, bingeing... it went on and on for almost two years until I felt like a guinea pig running incessantly on its wheel, with no escape and no way of getting off. Whenever I think of the pain and worry my family and my friends endured as they watched me slowly self-destruct, and the depth of their love for me even while this was going on, I know that I can never thank them enough. They stood by me time and time again and reminded me of how beautiful I truly was and forever will be, both inside and out.
The most important thing I learned while I was teaching myself to eat properly again was to simply relax into the present moment, rather than killing myself over unanswerable questions such as: "When did I become such an obsessive perfectionist?" or "Why has my life ended up like this, with me sitting here trying to physically force myself not to run over to the dog and throw my perfectly healthy, nutritious dinner at his feet?" It took a lot of effort and, yes, more tears, before I was able to turn off those voices in my head and just allow myself to take it one day, one minute, one second at a time. Eventually I decided that Nervosa had run my life for long enough. For the first time in ages, I became more interested in questioning the deeper questions of existence. I started to read books that dealt with spiritual and esoteric topics, books that made me question my own place in the world – and in doing that, I eventually discovered another side to myself. A side that has never lost or gained so much as an ounce, never stressed itself out over what the future holds, but has always lived in the now. It is this presence that some people call God.
I use the word “God” with some trepidation. For me, it still evokes a mental image of a judgemental old man who perches majestically on His throne of cloud, playing favourites with people’s lives. He haughtily surveys the little people and cackles gleefully as they get themselves into one scrape after another. A sadistic kind of guy! In an egotistical fit of pique, this “God” in my head even banished poor old Adam and Eve from His garden and sentenced them to all kinds of horror simply because they’d been curious about the Forbidden Fruit. Bit silly of him, really, to mention that Forbidden Tree in the first place. Sheer lunacy! After all, everybody knows that declaring something to be “forbidden” is a sure-fire way of making it a coveted object. If this God character had genuinely wanted that tree to be left alone, he would have kept its “Forbidden” status very quiet indeed. Then the serpent wouldn’t have looked twice at it, and we could all have frolicked merrily around Eden to our heart’s content. Sigh.
Needless to say, I highly doubt that such a malevolent and hostile God exists. That kind of deity wouldn’t deserve a scrap of anybody’s respect, let alone their undying devotion and worship. But one thing I do believe – because I have experienced it to be true – is that we all have an unshakeable core of beauty within us, a beauty so powerful and profound that we – that is to say, our egoes, our shadow selves – are scared silly by it. We deny its existence, either consciously or unconsciously. We convince ourselves that we’re worthless. We become disgusted by our emotions, our natural impulses, and our own bodies. And when we stop caring for ourselves, we automatically become blind to how our actions affect others. That was certainly what happened in my case. That is why I became obsessed with food, determined to deprive myself, punish myself, curse myself – even as my dismayed family and friends looked on, praying that I would one day regain my senses. I finally did so by recognising Nervosa to be nothing more than a liar.
Only when I stopped listening to Nervosa and started listening to my body –– did I begin to understand all that it could be. The human body can be fierce and aggressive, tender and gentle; strong but fragile; mesmerisingly complex, but breathtaking in its simplicity. It is paradoxical. Mysterious. Miraculous. But I, blinded by my fears and obsessions, wasn’t grateful to have it. I deprived it of all the nutrients it desperately needed, I forced it to exercise for hours on end without a break, and I was irritated by its cries for nourishment. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t really have this desire for food. I was ashamed of it. I despised it. I despised my body. And still, in spite of the obstacles I constantly laid in its path, it valiantly continued to chug onwards, giving me the gift of life. Hopeful that it would someday be treated with the love and care that it craved, that I would one day open my eyes and my heart to the joy and laughter to be found on the planet, and that I would one day be profoundly grateful for my life and everyone in it. Until the end of my time on Earth, that amazing body of mine will be loyal, consistent, courageous. That construction of flesh and bone, blood and water is absolutely irrepressible!
I want to keep loving and understanding my body – and I want to be in touch with my divine essence at every moment of every day. I want to be in touch with it as I eat my meals. I want to be in touch with it whenever I smile and listen to my siblings joke and squabble with each other. I want to be in touch with it each time a friend regales me with some hilarious anecdote and we both crease up, helpless with laughter. I want to be in touch with it even as I read about yet another senseless murder or the denigration of our environment, even as I shed tears of grief and struggle to remember that all is not lost. I want to embrace every moment of glory and sadness that this fragile life has to offer, knowing always that I don’t need to change / alter / “fix” myself in order to fit in or earn my right to exist on this planet. I deserve to live my life to the full. So does the Dalai Lama. So does Madonna. So does the drunkard whom everybody crosses the street to avoid. So does every single anorexic, bulimic, or compulsive eater who sees no way out of their tortured relationship with food.
To anyone who is suffering an eating disorder of any kind, I don't want to give the impression that I found recovery easy to achieve, because it certainly wasn't. It was the hardest thing I've ever done, without a doubt. I had to search deep inside myself and confront all the insecurities, guilt and pain I had accumulated throughout the years. And I do not now enjoy some kind of blissed-out, stress-free existence. Sometimes I’m more inclined to moan and sulk then to look for the inherent goodness in all sentient beings. Sometimes while I’m running late for some appointment or other, I don’t keep an eye on the footpath and I end up falling flat on my face, the contents of my bag spilling out all over the street. Sometimes I put my foot in it and make some ill-advised remark, upsetting my nearest and dearest. Sometimes Nervosa sidles up to me and whispers that all this spiritual discovery lark is pointless – and by the way, I’m looking a bit chubby… So it’s not as if all my troubles have disappeared in a puff of smoke. But I know, without a shred of doubt, that I have enough strength to deal with whatever life throws at me. I tell Nervosa exactly where she can shove her nonsense. Whose body is it, anyway, Nervosa? Yours or mine? I get over my sulk and apologise to whoever I’ve offended. I pick myself up from the ground and dust myself off with as much dignity as I can muster.
If you are still grappling with Nervosa, still under her spell, then all I can say to you is: give up the fight. Really. When Nervosa starts up with one of her hysterical rants: “You’re useless, you look absolutely disgusting, you’re a disgrace to everybody, a blot on the face of this Earth,” etc etc…simply refuse to engage with her. Nervosa is a parasite. Without the vital attention and energy of her host – i.e. you – she cannot exist. Nervosa will, of course, resist her inexorable demise. Like all tyrannical dictators whose power is under threat, she will employ her prized allies – fear and intimidation – to maintain control. But persistence pays off sooner or later. At some point, you will realise that the oppressive label of “anorexic / bulimic / compulsive eater” that hangs around your neck does not define who you are, however much it may seem to. You are a loving, ineffably strong soul. And that soul has always been resting in the peaceful eye of your ego’s self-constructed storm. Once you truly understand this, you will appreciate your body for all that it can do…and never again be vanquished by Nervosa.
You are far more precious and powerful than you realise you are.
It is my unshakeable belief that if everyone chose to tap into their divine essence and opened their eyes to the beauty that resides in themselves, in other creatures, and the beauty of the world around them, then all suffering would come to an end. There would be no more war. No inequality. No racism. No senseless acts of violence. No eating disorders. These days I’m a college student with many obligations to fulfil, so I spend a great deal of my time rushing around like a headless chicken – but every night, before I go to sleep, I pray that all people may open up to the love that has always dwelt in their hearts, waiting to be revealed.