Saying goodbye

I’ve never found saying goodbye easy. As much as I struggle to display my emotions saying goodbye is the one thing I really struggle to pull a mask over.

Over the past 18 months you’ve helped me focus and work on my eating disorder, but you’ve also helped me, bit by bit, discover a little more about who I am, why I am important, why I’m worth something, why my past does not need to define who I am now.

And more importantly, you’ve helped me start believing it.

I’ve been able to open up and admit things I thought I’d never say aloud, and not once felt judged for it. I’ve felt understood, like someone’s finally ‘got’ me. Someone is on my side and believes that I can do this, I can beat this, I’ve just got to believe in it myself, and most importantly not be afraid to be ‘me’.

I’ve gone from spending 12 years vomiting every single thing I ate – every meal, every snack, every binge – to eating meals, keeping them down, and even eating in front of people. You’ve helped me to control the anxieties, push through them and come out the other side, feeling stronger and with the faith that it is possible to do it all again.

Most of all, the support and understanding you’ve offered has made me feel less alone in all of this, and that in turn has helped to boost the confidence I have in myself.

I am scared about what lies ahead, but I also have more hope than I’ve ever had before that I might just be able to do this. The challenges that you’ve helped me to face and overcome, the self belief you’ve helped me build, the increasing faith in who I am is going to be invaluable in moving forward.

Thank you, for everything. I’m not great at putting things into words but I will never forget the extent to which you’ve aided my recovery so far.

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Dear Eating Disorder – My enemy

I am drained by your unrelenting, destructive presence.

You have robbed me of such a huge part of my life. Milestones and achievements I should have enjoyed have been destroyed by you.

You have been there, all day, every day since I was 16. Making me believe I’m worthless, shameful, disgusting unless I’m thin. But it’s never enough. It’s never good enough. Pounds became stones but I’m still not thin enough, not good enough, and I realise now that I never will be.

You set me up to fail at everything. I can’t win. I fail at recovery, I also fail at anorexia – every single time I eat, every time it turns into a binge, every time the scales creep up – I’m failing, every second of every day. It is exhausting beyond comprehension.

You’ve robbed me of my last years of school, university, graduation, relationships, holidays, my wedding, but worst of all you’ve destroyed my pregnancies and early years of motherhood. Enough now. My babies deserve better than this. I should have embraced pregnancy, cherished how the body that you’ve been so intent on destroying managed, against all odds, to create and nourish my two healthy children. Instead you forced my focus onto staying thin, maintaining my weight, losing weight, fighting against the inevitable gain as my babies developed and my body grew.

I tried so hard to shut you out. Knew that you would put my babies at risk. You forced your way in. Made me lie to everyone. I have never been so ashamed of myself as I was during my pregnancies.

When I lost two babies, you convinced me that it was my fault – I was to blame. My selfishness, my desire to be as thin as possible killed the babies I so desperately longed for. And when I finally did manage to conceive and carry my second daughter, you didn’t let me relax for a single second. I was so damaged by your voice, your presence. I was convinced I’d lose her too. And despite this, how much I hated myself for the potential damage I could do to my precious baby, you had me vomiting in the bathroom of the delivery room with my tiny newborn, the baby I’d come close to losing just hours before, asleep next door.

I’ve missed so much of their childhood. These two perfect, loving little girls. I’ve been there, but never without you, and the way in which you infiltrate my whole life, every thought I have, has caused me to miss out on enjoying my babies, watching them grow.

I’m tired. I’ve had enough. Every time my heart starts to palpitate, every time I feel weak, shakey, faint, I wonder if you’ve pushed me too far, If I’ll go to bed and not wake up.

There are times when you’ve made me resent my choice to become a mother, resent the two little people I love the most in this world, who give me those moments where I actually feel happy, who make my heart swell with pride, because if they weren’t around I wouldn’t have to keep fighting, I could give in and let you win. I hate you for that.

I’m exhausted. You’ve won. You’ve drained me of everything. I feel like I have no fight left in me, and yet I have to keep going because there is no other option.

The worst thing is, I can blame you as much as I like, but your force has become so powerful and so all-consuming that the blame doesn’t lie with you, not really. It’s me, it’s all me, you’ve become who I am. I hate myself. I’ve destroyed everything.

Dear Eating Disorder – my friend

I remember when you first entered my life. You’d been trying to creep your way in for years, but when you finally did it, you arrived with a bang.

I remember the adrenaline rush the first time I ‘succeeded’ in making myself sick. I felt euphoric – like nothing could touch me and nothing could bring me down. I started losing weight very quickly, people started paying me compliments. My parents were proud of me – I’d actually done something right.

For the first few months you gave me hope, let me feel good about myself, allowed me to believe that I was good at something, that I could be beautiful. . . . if only I lost a bit more weight. . . and then a bit more, and a bit more after that. . .

12 years down the line, and I’m still not there yet, but you are. You’re still there, you haven’t given up on me. Every time I slip, you come back stronger than before. You used to nudge me gently, now it’s more like a shove, but you don’t ever give up. You make me believe that as long as you’re in my life I have the strength I didn’t know was there.

At my very lowest moments, you’ve been there to boost me, to give me that surge over and over again, make me feel worth something, if only for a moment. It’s those moments I cling to, keep going back for, the fleeting moments where I believe for just a second that I can do this.

But you have to keep moving the goalposts. It’s exhausting. Every time I think I’m nearly there, I’ve nearly made it, you push that goal a little bit further. I know I’ll never be good enough for you, not really, but you keep encouraging me anyway.

You’re a hypocrite, really, contradicting yourself over and over again. You make me feel worthless, but also like I could be worth something.  You push, push, push until I feel so low I don’t want to go on living, and then when I’m down there, right at the bottom, you pick me up. When the whole world is against me, you’re the only one on my side. The only one who understands the fear of gaining weight, the absolute certainty that recovery is just not possible. You get that. You’re right there with me.

You’ve made me feel safe, protected in this little bubble – us against the world. But that’s part of the problem. You’ve isolated me from everyone. I don’t know who I am without you anymore.

Dear Stranger

Dear Stranger,

We’d not met before, but this morning whilst I was hurrying out of the doctors surgery in a rush to get to my next appointment on time, you were standing in line for reception. You caught my eye and I shot you a smile. Before I could pass you, you stopped me and said ‘You look lovely dear, you look just gorgeous’.

Taken aback, I thanked you and continued on my way. You don’t know me, you had no reason to say such kind words. You won’t realise this, but you made my day.

You don’t know me, so you don’t know that I’d been through four outfit changes already that morning. I’d changed my hairstyle three times. I’d stressed about how terrible I looked from the second I’d woken up.

You don’t know me, so you weren’t to know that I was on my way out of the doctors having had my fortnightly bloods taken and ECG. That the next appointment I was rushing for was with my therapist. That for the past year I’ve been under the care of a severe eating disorders team, trying to fight the eating disorder that’s taken over the last 13 years of my life.

You weren’t to know that I never feel gorgeous. That I ALWAYS feel fat. That I always feel disgusting, unattractive, ashamed. That I suffer from Bulimia.

You don’t know me, and you didn’t need to say what you did. Those words took seconds out of your day and cost you nothing, but they made me feel beautiful, just for a moment, and have had me smiling the rest of the day.

Dear stranger, thank you for complimenting a fellow stranger. A small act of kindness that meant so much.