TW: Eating Disorders

To whom it may concern:

I'm sorry that my eating disorder was hard for you. Truly, I am. I'm sorry that watching me waste away to hollowed cheeks and xylophone ribs was painful. Know that I mean this. I am so sorry you had to watch me lose the will to live. I'm sorry you had to hold me as I sobbed because I ate fifteen goldfish crackers, which I deemed to be too many. I'm so sorry that you heard me say "at least if I die, I die beautiful", and that your existence and love wasn't enough to change that mindset. I know it was difficult, and I know it killed you inside. You love me. You want me to be happy, and I'm so grateful for that. I'm sorry it wasn't easy for you.

But it was hard for me, too.

Even though I was the one orchestrating the whole thing, the one starving myself, I really wasn't. It was something I had no control over. I have more control over it now, because that's what recovery is, but I still have an eating disorder. I will always have it. It is not easy and it is not fun. It is also, contrary to what you apparently believe, a choice. I do not have the luxury of making my own rational decisions about food sometimes. I have a mental illness that makes it really hard to have a normal relationship with food. I'm trying. Believe me, I am. I want to be able to make sound choices that aren't too much or too little. Some days I can, and those are really good days. A lot of the time, though, my brain doesn't understand how to do that. I don't know why. I don't get it either. Some people can get back to the way it was before and fully recover and live without being plagued constantly with thoughts of what they eat and how they look. I'm so happy for those people, but I am not one of them.

Please understand that. Please understand that and understand that while I'm sorry this has been hard for you to watch, it is not about you. Do not make this about you. I love you, but I need to focus on me and taking care of myself on this front. If I don't want to talk to you about how I feel, I won't. Regardless of what you may think, I don't have to. While your support is so appreciated and so valuable, I don't owe you anything. You don't understand my illness better than I do.

Do not talk to me about my weight. I know. Everything I've put in my body since this whole thing started has been acknowledged and accounted for. I feel every ounce my body is made up of. Most of those ounces are not welcome. But I'm trying. Don't ever tell me that you're worried about how I eat or how much I weigh. You're worried?

Again, I appreciate your concern and your attempts to help, but this is not the way. I promise you, I worry about these things and think about these things a billion times more than you could even fathom. If you ask me if I'm happy with my body and I say no, don't accuse me of not trying hard enough or doing enough to be happy. This is going to sound very over dramatic but it's true-- the fact that I'm alive means I'm trying. Yes, I have gained weight. I do not weigh 85 pounds anymore. My metabolism is still a little messed up. I hate it more than you do. Bear with me.

I'm genuinely very sorry you've had to see me go through this. Thank you for sticking with me and loving me. It's not easy. I know it's not and I will never take that for granted. I'm so sorry it's hard for you. But it is harder for me. Please remember that.