A recent post title from one of my favourite blogs has been tugging on my thoughts this week, and I have realised that I need to unpick my reaction, though I’m a little scared of what I might find. The post was called ‘Anorexic vs having anorexia’; and it’s a distinction I’m finding hard to make.
This is difficult to admit.
I recognise that an eating disorder is an illness – and not an identity – but I appear to have accepted the label; and, now that it’s been ripped off, I’m finding the exposure hurts. It is strange that, although I would never introduce myself as an eating disorder and vehemently abhor the pain and damage it has caused, it seems preferable to being me.
Oh dear.
It is hard not to cast judgement on this statement and plaster it over with things I should say. There is, however, only one way of changing it: by finding out what’s underneath.
This evening, I took myself for a long walk, with the objective of finding out why I’d rather be an eating disorder, than a person. No judgements. No censoring of my thoughts. Just a little heart to heart with me.
These are some of the reasons that I have found.
1. Lacking Other Terms of Reference
An eating disorder is an incredibly pervasive condition. It can hijack almost every aspect of your life. This makes it difficult to create an alternative vocabulary and means that the terms of reference are harder to come by.
For a significant proportion of my life, my personality, aspirations, and interests were warped by the eating disorder, to the extent that it was difficult to separate the illness out from me. The usual identifiers (career, interests, hobbies, likes, characteristics) were glaringly absent, and the eating disorder gradually took over the vacated space.
The first reason that it is hard to isolate me – from the illness – is that I have, until recently, had little else in my life. I lived, as if I was an illness, and have become used to identifying and describing myself in that way.
2. Personal Worth
Identity, I think, is often bound up with values and worth; and the next knot comes in relation to my previous ideas of self-worth.
As well as absorbing the different areas of my life, the eating disorder also hijacked the values that I placed on things, the way I determined my self worth. Good was a number on a scale; control was reflected by calorific intake; and success, in terms of things like BMI.
Now that the blinkers are off, I know that we are far more than our weight – but reconstructing my value system appears to be taking a little time.
3. “You are nothing without me”
There is still an echo of the eating disorder’s voice, floating around inside my head. It is quieter, nowadays, but not quite dead. It liked to tell me that I would be nothing, without an eating disorder; and that every success I had belonged to it, and not to me. It liked to claim that the things I prized would vanish, should I ignore it; and that, with nothing else to offer, I was nobody.
I do not consider an eating disorder to be an asset. I do not view it as something that is initially strived for and then obtained; as a quality, or a characteristic, or an admirable trait –
But I have to acknowledge that, in my stumbling search for a defining feature, I fell into an eating disorder; and, by accepting that label, I gave away the need – or opportunity – to find me.
This might explain why I am now feeling so completely exposed.
4. Hiding
My current state of vulnerability is a tricky one to untangle.
It suggests that I have been hiding behind the eating disorder, or using it as an extra layer of defence. This has, of course, been a double edged sword and attracted its own form of attack – but I wonder if this was preferable, some how. Whether it was easier to attribute any criticism or judgement to an eating disorder – rather than accepting that it was linked to me?
5. Distinguishing Features
This one’s related, and equally hard to admit. Identity is about similarities – and differences; the way we connect to other people – and what stands us apart. Although the realisation appals me, I think my eating disorder became my distinguishing feature: something that I took as mine.
3 through to 5 are contradictory but linked. About smoke and mirrors; hiding, and yet also finding a space that belonged to me. About fearing anonymity and irrelevance and being lost in the swell – without knowing how else to speak or be seen.
Urgh.
6. Confusion
Identity is hard to define. Eating disorders are notoriously complicated. Examine them together, and I am not surprised I have become confused.
The final reason I uncovered, in relation to why I’m finding the being – or having – an illness debate so hard, is because it is difficult to separate out the different strands and elements. To recognise that this characteristic belongs to Melissa – but was commandeered by the illness; and that preoccupation is directed by the eating disorder – where as this one, is just a part of me.
The lines are blurry, eroded by an eating disorder’s corrosive impact on self-trust. The messages are confusing, often suppressed by a history of self-denial.
I don’t have an answer for this one, nor for any of the others. It takes time to deconstruct a person – and it will probably take time to build her up again. I can, however, acknowledge their presence and accept my ambivalence –
Because, if there’s one thing of which I’m certain, it’s that I’d rather be a person working through recovery, than an illness -
And I hope that this awareness will create a space for finding me.
Tags: getting ill, Identity, maintaining, self discovery, Self Esteem, unravelling
