Sometimes, It Really Does Take Hitting Rock Bottom: A Eulogy to My ED
Sometimes, it does take hitting rock bottom to find the strength, even if it’s so deeply disguised, to rise again.
In the aftermath of some of the largest nightmares of my life, I found myself adrift a lot of the time, struggling to find any type of footing in a world turned entirely upside down. The pain was palpable for over a year. It was a constant companion that, slowly but surely, grew to weigh so heavily on my shoulders. But as I continued to journey through the darkness, I really had found a resilience within myself that I never knew existed, one that I often liked to convince myself that I had, but hoped to one day have. It was a rebirth of sorts– a transformation that not only reshaped my outlook on life and humanity but also my understanding of myself.
I remember this time of year, last year like it was just yesterday. Despite being in the beginning months of my battle with my eating disorder, I woke up each day with pure enthusiasm and hope for what was to come after college graduation. I had never felt more alive. The world felt as though I had such a firm grasp of it for one of the first times in my life. I felt unstoppable, despite some of the setbacks that were still plaguing me. You can only run from those hindrances for so long though, because they always catch up to you somehow.
That was the case for me, and many in their 20s– right when you think you have it figured out, you just don’t. In my story, the rose-colored glasses I wore regarding what was to come post-graduation, and my future in general, were quickly ripped off once summer came to a close. It’s a major hit to the ego whenever you are so driven, optimistic, and full of excitement to make something of yourself, only for life to throw you the curveballs that lead you to a place of hopelessness and of uncontrollable anguish. My eating disorder is only a mere piece of the puzzle contributing to the pitfalls that I’ve experienced over the past year, yet had continued to remain one of the defining elements of all of the others. Everything in my life had changed. Just about all of the innocence I had left (the very little of it) was stripped from me as I had to relearn how to exist in a post-grad, adult world where I had no choice but to swallow my suffering and continue on.
That was the problem. Whenever you suffer from any mental illness or disease that affects your brain function and behavior– and especially within the context of those who feel the pain of tragedies pretty intensely — it only compounds each issue into one larger one. When that happens, it feels almost impossible to escape or survive because you can’t find where to start with healing. As someone who preaches the significance of being gentle with yourself (and takes my own advice in that department at least), I reached a point where the only way I would beat my struggle(s) was by giving myself tough love. It was time, whether I was entirely ready or not, to truly choose recovery and to mean it. Because of that, I can finally say I’ve survived my eating disorder and can promise myself that I’ll never return to it again, whether it be for the comfort it’s provided me or a result of body image issues.
“When you have nothing left, and you feel like emptiness is the only thing that you know, it’s very easy to fall into hopelessness. But have you ever thought, that maybe you need to be emptied of what was so that you can be refilled with what’s to be? So maybe, you really were empty on purpose. What you are experiencing is the beginning of a magic and newness that you’ve been asking for..”
Writing a eulogy to my eating disorder may seem pretty paradoxical. At the surface level, it’s a matter of closure and acceptance of a life-changing chapter as I move forward from the struggle being such a defining aspect of myself and my life. Beyond that though, why would anyone in their right mind who had experienced this type of fatal illness– one that legitimately was slowly killing them– even remotely want to celebrate something that wrought such havoc on their wellbeing? For me, having truly recovered from it has given me the genuine opportunity to now reflect on my journey without the taint of continued struggle. And now, my reflection can be done in such a way that I’m now able to appreciate the person that this illness has made me become.
Before the good though, the bad… That’s something that I, and many people who suffer from eating disorders, and oftentimes those with disordered eating, don’t really do. It’s not easy.
Even as I promised to myself at the start of the year that it was time to grow and heal, the rollercoasters that accompany any type of recovery from any type of illness is inevitable. There are highs and lows and good and bad days, and a lot of the time, all it takes is one bad day for the rollercoaster to spiral yet again into a steep drop. “It’s never about the food” is a common phrase in the ED community. And as I look back on my journey, it’s nothing short of the truth. It’s not merely a physical struggle, it’s a manifestation of both internal and external insecurities, fears, the desperate need for control in a world spinning out of my grasp.
My journey with my eating disorder was further complicated by the many other trials I faced, especially that of the heart. When I found myself lost in the sea of heartache, it was a blow that shook me to my core– one that left me questioning just about everything I thought I knew about love, about life, about myself. Restricting my eating is one thing that I knew I could do to feel as though the trajectory of my life was at least partly in my control, when I always had known that it wasn’t. And each trial and tribulation I experienced only further further propelled that behavior.
It took removing myself from the people, places, situations, mentalities, and, yes, even my own actions and behaviors to kickstart my journey in genuinely confronting the depths of my vulnerability. This is one of the hardest parts, but sometimes, a hard reset of your life is the best way to tackle it all in one swing. They always say that hitting rock bottom is a necessary precursor to rising to the top. And when I had my wake-up call, it served as a stark reminder of the fragility of my life and the urgency to make a real change this time around. As I had written previously, the road to recovery was anything but linear. Sometimes, all it took was waking up to a new breakout on my face to trigger my unhealthy eating behaviors for the rest of the day, and likely days to come. Learning to fight against your brain is the hardest part, but the most necessary. And for me, that was the only way.
There were days– especially over the last two months– when the weight of my struggles felt unbearable as I forced myself to confront it head-on. An unspoken truth that many like me don’t vocalize is that it’s so hard to completely let go of your eating disorder. Even when your biggest goal has been and is to fully recover, it’s terrifying. The underlying fear of the potential emptiness you may feel without the label of suffering or recovering from the eating disorder is powerful. Sometimes, it can feel as though you have forgotten who you are without the mental illness, and that can be so limiting. But it’s about realizing the bigger picture and shifting your perspective to build your mental fortitude.
Once I really committed to getting better, every meal felt like I was betraying myself at the start, and each time I ate I feared I’d end up looking like the version of me I never want to be again. But that is where the mental illness of any type of eating disorder comes in, because the brain is constantly lying to you and sabotaging you. It’s about recognizing that the negative thoughts are there, and will be there, but ignoring them and sitting with those hard, uncomfortable feelings to allow them to eventually subside.
On the days where I’m not feeling the greatest, whether it be more mental- or physical-based, I wake up knowing it’s another day to choose recovery regardless, because that’s the only choice. I can’t go back. There is no excuse to not choose recovery. I may have the bad thoughts, but it’s your actions that show your recovery. And I choose life and I choose myself. That was when every meal began to feel like a battle won, and every step forward felt like a victory in itself… That was when I knew I was on the real path of recovery.
Now, I don’t have to balance myself each time I stand up or get out of bed. I wake up feeling refreshed. I don’t feel anxious whenever I go out to eat with family or friends anymore. I’ve reconnected with my favorite foods and now can experiment with new ones. I don’t feel my collarbones several times a day any longer. I don’t need to wear a ton of makeup to cover my lack of color or heavy undereyes from exhaustion and malnourishment. My hair doesn’t fall out every time I brush it, and it’s become softer and healthier. If I feel bloated, I don’t spiral into a cycle of starvation because I fully recognize that weight restoration is a process after so long of neglecting myself. My skin is starting to have a glow to it again. My eyes don’t look empty anymore. I’m filling out the clothes that were loose on me at my sickest. I no longer look back at pictures of myself at my lowest and long to be her again. I feel alive for the first time in just about a year. I feel like a woman and look into the mirror and still see bits of one that I once knew, but she’s happier now, matured, and ready to close the chapter to such a tumultuous time of her life.
As a person, I am much more compassionate. With pain comes growth and understanding, and surviving my anorexia has made me a better person today. I see the world differently now. I became more understanding of people’s struggles. I learned to appreciate the little things of life so much more, because it was all I could cling to a lot of the time. I prioritize myself for the first time ever, because at the end of the day, you are the only person guaranteed to never leave your side through the good and bad. I became softer. More patient. And above all, hopeful. Hope is the reason I survived and am still here today. Even with all of the suffering– the days where I would sleep for 10 hours and still have subzero energy, having to do math each and every time I sat down for a meal or even drinks, or going months on end disliking the person I saw in the mirror yet being unable to stop what was making that happen– I wouldn’t change a thing. After everything, I’d never want to replace that chapter of my life with one written in a softer, prettier tone. Despite it all, it made me a better me.
The cliché “beautiful things take time” is nothing short of the truth, because it’s always better to accept the caterpillar-cocoon phase than to fight it.
And so, I bid farewell to my anorexia, and all of the heartbreak and suffering that other life events it accompanied over the last year and some– not with sadness or regret, but with gratitude for the lessons it has taught me and the strength it’s helped me discover.
In the end, it’s not our struggles that define us, but how we choose to overcome them.
