I started writing a post about Eating Disorder Awareness Week.
I stopped because I am not sure, yet, what I’d like to say.
That, of all psychiatric disorders, Anorexia Nervosa has the highest premature mortality rate. That the mortality rates for Bulimia and eating disorders not otherwise specified (EDNOS) are equally terrifying.
That part of the complexity of eating disorders lies in the fact that no experience is exactly the same. That there are resonances and similarities, but each person’s experience is unique.
That I am deeply worried by the closures of units that I keep hearing about, especially those that I have known. That I am also scared by the growing number of sufferers and, particularly, of younger – and older – and male sufferers.
That it is as important to focus on awareness of recovery as it is to focus on awareness of being ill.
I don’t know.
All of these – and nothing. A large part of my life has been stolen by an eating disorder and I do not want to give it anymore time –
No. This is not quite true. Part of the taking back is choosing to give it time. It’s just that the time is spent in a different way.
I have had a rough few months. I try and skim over it because it is easier that way. Because there is less room, now, between me and my blog, and it is therefore much harder to hide. Because the time has been golden, too, and it’s hard to reconcile the magic and the struggle. Because even with 18 years of experience and a good whack of intensive treatment, an eating disorder can still ambush, ensnare and baffle. Can re-emerge, when you think you’re on the straight and narrow; or slip in when the routines that you’ve built to keep it out get perturbed –
And so this is my message.
Not that an eating disorder haunts forever – but that it is a difficult battle to win.
That it needs to be talked about for these reasons. Because it is a difficult battle to win and a difficult experience to talk about; and because the complexity of eating disorders means that they are difficult to understand. Because we’re not winning yet and we need to work together. Because recovery is very possible, and it’s important to tell that story as well.
There’s lots of stuff going on this week. beat have released a much needed report on the use of images in the reporting of eating disorders; there’s a busy schedule of online and offline events; Men Get Eating Disorders Too have launched a new membership scheme; we’ve got a cool Facebook page focusing on the positives of recovery –
And I’m using the time to touch base with myself and think a little bit about how I’m going to move things forward in the coming months. How I can make sure that I win my battle, and continue enjoying the amazing things that recovery can bring.
A note on my terrible comments policy -
Friday, November 19th, 2010Because I have one of the worst replying-to-comment policies on the internet, I just wanted to write a quick post on comments. And on the fact that they mean a huge amount to me, contrary to what my haphazard responses would suggest.
A few months ago, one of my favourite bloggers wrote a post that really made me think. Actually, it jarred a little uncomfortably – and then it made me think. About conversation, and comments, and what the interaction between writer and readers means.
When I started Finding Melissa, it was just me and my illness. I was so cut off and introspective that I couldn’t see beyond the narrow parameters of my existence, or imagine that some of my experiences might be shared. The comments here, and the wider community of Twitter, have transformed my outlook on the world. They have bridged the gap and added a context that has broken through the isolation. They have been the unexpected answer when I was used to talking to myself.
And so, sometimes, I don’t know what to say. And sometimes I forget just how much hinges on dialogue. And sometimes I’m just inexcusably disorganised –
But when I don’t say anything, it infers that I don’t appreciate the courage that comes from sharing an opinion, and it conceals the gratitude I feel for people bothering to stop by and think about my blog.
So, I leave it for a few days; and then, like in real life, I worry that I’ve missed the opportunity and it would be a little funny to say something, now… Which means that things are unsaid.
I don’t think there’s a hard and fast rule for comments replies on blogs – but I think it’s important to say thank you and to acknowledge the other side of the conversation, and I haven’t done this very well.
So, a huge thank you for sharing your experiences and letting me know that you’re out there. Thank you for reading – and then thinking about – what I write. Thanks you for coming back even though it might feel like you’re writing into a vacuum. Thank you for giving me ideas, and support, and encouragement, and making me smile -
I guess the subject’s been weighing on my mind as I don’t want to be someone who forgets the conversation, particularly when it has spread into and enriched my whole life.
Thank you. xx
Tags: comments, talking, writing
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