ED Chronicles: The Beginning of Ana and I
This entire series of posts consists of the diaries I kept throughout the duration of my eating disorder. Some were written on the pages of notebooks, other on a word document, some half-formed emotion-filled scrawls of teenage angst, and others a bit more subtly written. All of them here have been read, re-read, and largely rewritten. Not so much fixing grammar and poor handwriting, but to expose the thoughts and feelings and inner workings of my anorexia-manipulated mind at the time of writing. While the language, names, and certain situations have been modified, altered, or completely obliterated, the essence of the entry remains.
For those of you reading this with any kind of active eating disorder, or disordered thoughts about food or body, please note this comes with a big trigger warning, as these entreis contain detailed descriptions, numbers and ED behaviours. DO NOT READ FURTHER if this describes your current mindset.
If this is not you, please read on. And I hope you take something away from these very personal and very real moments of my journey. And know that the girl depicted in these chronicles is not the same woman who is now posting them here. She is just a part of the story that is now who I am and how I exist in this world.
In the words of Lewis Carrol,
“"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then." - Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.
I can no longer retreat to the inner world of anorexia, even if I wanted to. I am here in the healthy world of late night drunk food and lazy sunday mornings, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
ED Chronicles: The Beginning of Ana and I
This is chronicles of an anorexia. I say “an” because it is telling the story of one unique experience. The roots of causation, the spread of the illness and the manifestations and impact it leaves on those in her wake. Recovery is not a single jolt of realization or inspiration. It is the constant fight every moment of everyday. The continuous and untiring revolt against any indication ana is rearing her ugly head. Anorexia is Like a chronic parasite. Recovery is choosing to peel the leech teethed to your skin again and again, only for it to attach and attempt to drain you at the next opportunity. It’s painful and ugly. But it is not impossible. Every time that leech is peeled off and flung away, it loses some of its bite.
2013
It's amazing how it's when I'm tiptoeing by death, I feel the most alive.
I've become addicted to chasing that feeling of aliveness.
I crave the exhilaration of imminent crisis, an adrenaline high coursing through my veins as I surf waves of destruction that will ultimately send me crashing into the rocks.
I see the darkness of the waters, the jagged edges of cliff, and still, I chase the waves anyways.
I want someone to shake me awake, to shock me back into rational behaviour. I want someone to save me from myself.
Ana is not another person. Ana is Me. I am her. Ana's voice is my own thoughts, raging and lashing out in the cavities of my brain, condemning my weakness, berating my lack of discipline, all evidenced by the flesh that still blankets many of my bones. Pinchable evidence of my lack of willpower, succumbing to temptation, and acts of gluttony and selfishness.
I should be stronger than this.
Strong enough to eat or strong enough to starve?
(continued in next post)