If I’m honest…
I’m struggling, I’m struggling a lot. I write this as I’m sat in my bedroom, alone, as usual. Everyone else is downstairs having pudding… I can hear the animated conversation and laughter erupting. I wish I could be a part of it. God, I wish I could.
I feel so, so alone. This is why I set up my blog, to ensure that others never feel as alone as I have. Everyone’s been so kind about it, I’ve been called ‘admirable’, ‘inspirational’… but I could not feel less so. Anorexia berates me for setting up a blog, pretending I’m making progress with this illness, “You fraud! Progress? Ha. You wish, Mima!”.
When people talk to me, they seem to see a totally different person to the one I feel I am. I feel like such a waste of space, a strain on those around me, a cloud of depression. I just want to disappear, I want the world to swallow me up. But people don’t seem to meet the same person.
…
Sorry, I stopped for a bit, Midge came in. She often comes in to see me when I’m feeling at my worst, it must be a twin thing. I don’t know what I did to deserve such an immensely loving, unconditionally supportive and relentlessly kind twin. With most people I can hide if I’m about to burst into tears, but not with Midge. My tears wouldn’t stop falling, I let her read what I had just written, and her eyes filled with tears too. The guilt is all consuming. Despite obeying anorexia’s every command, taking the smaller portion, leaving that last bit of supper, it’s never enough. No matter how much I do to please anorexia, it always wants more.
I can deal with it ruining my life. I can deal with the silent stares, the scrutiny, and ceaseless comments. But what I cannot deal with is the pain it causes to those I love most. At supper Daddy asked if I’d finished with my plate, I replied, “Yeah, I’ve just left the last bit, I took too much”. As I passed my plate down, Arthie angrily muttered, “more like half the plate!”. Though said under his breath, this is the comment that is now echoing in my ear, I’m left ruminating on it for the remainder of the evening. He’s not to blame though, he has every right to feel angry, frustrated, and totally exhausted of this illness, it’s been four years.
As I’ve already said, it’s when I see the pain my illness inflicts on those I love, that is when it hurts the most. Yes, it hurts me when anorexia steals another opportunity, experience, or memory. But not as much as when I see it reduce the very people I care most about to tears. I suppose I’m writing this because this is the reality of life with anorexia, the two are not compatible, and whilst I know this, I still go back to it?! I know the pain it creates, yet I feel unable to cope without it.
People often seem to pity the sufferer, but I don’t deserve your pity, tonight is yet another night anorexia’s upset my family. I’m sorry Arth, I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I’d never got this.
I've thought about whether or not to post this for several days, and the thing that's stopped me is how personal this particular blog feels. But, I've realised that the harder things feel to post, the more accurate my representation of life with this illness will be. The whole point of this blog is for ME. For me to vent, for my voice to be heard above anorexias. So that's why I've decided to post it, because if I filter my experience then there's little point in me having this space, I'm only protecting anorexia.
