This picture popped up on my Facebook timeline a few days ago, with a note from Facebook that read: This memory happened four years ago. Share it with your friends!
I thought to myself, “Oh, I’ll share it with my friends all right, but not like this.” So I’m sharing it now, in this form, because there is so much to say about this picture, and I don’t really know where to begin.
I don’t know where to begin, and what I didn’t know then was that I had an eating disorder.
And now I bet you’re wondering how I didn’t know I had an eating disorder.
It’s easy not to know you have something when you know nothing about it, let alone talked about it.
Eating disorders weren’t really disorders as much as they were taboos, the elephant in the room no one talked about. Maybe if we ignore it, it will go away.
Problems don’t usually go away by ignoring them (no matter how long college students ignore their pile of assignments to be done).
Not talking about eating disorders at home is one thing, but not talking about them at school is another and potentially dangerous thing.
Yes, I had the mandatory “unit” on them, but I’m using that term lightly because we spent about five minutes discussing the differences between Anorexia and Bulimia: starving and barfing.
I didn’t think I had an eating disorder because at the time I didn’t describe what I was doing as starving. I was limiting, counting, stressing about the number of calories and the number of pounds. I didn’t think there was anything wrong (which is a classic sign of Anorexia, but they don’t teach you that in school).
I didn’t think anything was wrong until I was in the Emergency room, waiting to be admitted for my appendectomy, and I overheard a conversation my doctor was having on the phone:
I have a 17-year-old anorexic female presenting with appendicitis.
I didn’t think anything was wrong until I heard that one word that hit me like a ton of bricks in the chest, and I wasn’t sure what hurt worse: the weight of that word or the inflamed appendix.
The shame of being labelled as an Anorexic was enough to keep from talking about it for another year. I didn’t want to be labelled as the “Girl with Anorexia.” People can’t identify you as something if you keep yourself hidden.
School teaches you a lot of useful information: basic math, how to be literate, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.
It also doesn’t teach you things that could be useful: how to balance a checkbook, how to write a resume and cover letter, how to tell if you have an Eating Disorder
Society talks a lot about the problems occurring today: racial tensions, the Middle East, Drought.
It’s only recently that society has begun to talk about the way media affects adolescents.
I didn’t know I had an eating disorder because I was never taught about how complex they are.
What I was doing didn’t fit the definition given to me, and so I wasn’t anorexic, even though I was.
School didn’t teach me how to deal with my eating disorder, and because I refused to tell anybody for fear of being labelled, I had to deal with it on my own.
School didn’t teach me how complex eating disorders are. Instead, it provided me with simple, one-word definitions that I didn’t even fit. I didn’t know I had an eating disorder because I didn’t fit the simple definition.
School didn’t teach me about the mental components of eating disorders, just the physical. I didn’t know I had an eating disorder because, for me, it was just as much mental as it was physical.
School didn’t teach me about how hard the recovery process was going to be. It didn’t teach me about how much eating was going to hurt, physically and mentally. It didn’t teach me about how much my self-esteem would be lowered with each bite I took.
School didn’t teach me about how to deal with the effects of this 5-year battle. I can’t skip a meal because habits are hard to break, and the chances of relapsing are higher than I’d like to admit. My hands are cold more often than not. I have permanent dark circles under my eyes, and my eyes seem to be sunk in a little too far in my face. There are stretch marks all over my body from the weight gain during recovery.
These are things I’m coming to terms with. Some days I’m ok; some days, I’m not.
I didn’t know I had an eating disorder because society wasn’t talking about them in the right way.
We’re getting better because now we’re acknowledging the complexities of eating disorders: they overlap, there are many than two kinds, they can affect anybody and everybody: girls, boys, chubby, skinny.
I didn’t know I had an eating disorder. I didn’t know how to talk about my eating disorder. I didn’t know how common they are, how many people I know who had, or still have, one.
But now I do.
And I’m making the most of everything I now know.
For more information on eating disorders, and for help for you or someone you know, visit: http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/