13 ED's as Friends
Right from the start my eating disorders made me feel special.
Safe. Calm.
A collection of behaviours gathered together, diagnosis: late-middle-stage anorexia. As I said before, disappointing. I kept the bulimic stuff to myself.
Restricting, purging and me.
The holy triumvirate.
Like one close knit group of friends sharing the same goal.
THIN.
Thin legs.
Fleshless knees.
An angular jaw.
Life will be so much easier, I thought, when I’m no longer flawed. New diagnosis? Perfection!
Never quite getting to where you want to be is strangely addictive; habit forming, compulsive - the reward that remains just out of reach becomes utterly compelling.
My friends urged me on,
You can do it, they’d say.
We’re with you all the way.
Think of the future… thin, perfect, successful you.
WE’VE GOT THIS!
At some point (I don’t remember when) instead of feeling hopeful I felt hopeless. The loss of hope is a terrible thing. I willed it to return. And waited. Nothing.
But still I pursued my goal.
Why couldn’t I stop what I was doing?
Why did these behaviours have such a hold on me?
Even when they made me feel so much worse?
Like when the purging no longer worked.
My body rebelled, I looked like the “before shot” for a water retention tablet advertisement.
You look very … erm… tired, people said, under the weather.
A lecturer at college thought I was a heroin addict. Years later a boss took my colleague aside and asked, "Is she taking heroin?”
You get my drift.
Overnight my “friends” became my enemies. Never was it so true to keep my friends close and my enemies closer.
I fought them.
Hated them.
They responded by doubling down on their efforts to win me back.
Of course, they won.
Over and over again.
My mistake (and this isn’t so for everyone) was believing that my recovery meant I had to win.
The therapist who saved my life taught me that my behaviours (friends/enemies) were really defences.
Fighting on my behalf. Protecting me.
They will fight for you in the last redoubt, he said, meaning the only place of retreat left on the battlefield.
Despite their destructive ways they were allies. And having spent their time protecting me 24/7 they were understandably hurt by my rejection.
Recovery meant re…friending them.
Being kind.
What they really wanted was my instruction to stand down. Be stood (soldiers like instructions) and then sent on holiday. Somewhere peaceful. Blue sky. And birdsong.
Maybe a cocktail, or two, before sunset.
Not even the hardest mercenary wants to be on the battlefield forever.
As my strength grew they lost their potency. It wasn’t that I didn't need them to protect me, it was that I needed them to do it differently.
I said, I can take care of myself now.
Slowly my defences transmuted into healthy boundaries.
Boundaries that said,
I’ll think about it.
When you do this I feel like…
I feel…
Can you help me with…
I need you.
I love… my life… you… me.
Dismantle your defences, gently.
With infinite patience.
Celebrate peacetime.
Did you enjoy this article?
Subscribe to our Substack to be notified when we publish another just like this one!