Everyone who’s been through eating disorder treatment has been told to separate him or herself from the disease. It’s not you who hates cheeseburgers; it’s the anorexia. It’s not you who hates your body; it’s the eating disorder. Some therapists and sufferers go as far as naming the eating disorder “Ed.”
Having gone through years of therapy, I’ve become an expert at separating myself from Ed. Even so, stopping myself from acting on the distorted thoughts became more difficult when I went away to college... and eventually became impossible. Cue the relapse.
I knew that I could eat carbs and fats in moderation, but it felt safer to stick with the veggies. I knew I was not obese, but I would still force myself to go to sleep hungry.
These were some thoughts I learned to refute when anorexia took over the first time. But when I came to college, I discovered why 35% of female students struggle with what is the deadliest mental illness.
I love college, and my eating disorder does too.
Ed loves college because college makes me feel out of control. No matter how hard I study, there’s still a chance I’ll bomb a test. Food, however, is a sure thing; I can be completely in charge of my calorie intake and how many miles I run on the treadmill. To the same point, whether you came to college with a declared major or not, every freshman goes through the What-The-Hell-Do-I-Want-To-Do-With-My-Life Crisis at least once. I still don’t know for sure where I’ll succeed in the working world, but I know that I am good at dieting because I can watch a number on a scale decrease week after week.
Ed loves the party scene at college almost as much as I do. College was a fresh start for me; a new chance to make first impressions on friends I might have for life. Maybe I’d even find a really great guy. The pressure to be liked by these new people was met by Ed’s motto: being skinny is equivalent to being desirable. Looking good in photos and in skimpy outfits became motivation to restrict calories. When I felt like people did not want to befriend me or when boys rejected me, I associated this with my imperfect weight. The more I would give in to restricting, the more Ed would tell me I needed to be smaller.
Ed loves college because he can substitute the familiarity of home, and he can thrive when I am far from my parents and friends. The behaviors he suggests gave me a big, warm hug when I was lonely because they are behaviors I know so well. On top of this, I am no longer under the close watch of people who love me and my treatment team, who know signs to look for when I start to slip. In fact, my new friends at college showered me with praise when I would constantly order a salad or forego the late-night Ben and Jerry’s. Little did they know, they were complimenting Ed, a parasite who feeds on compliments.
Even though my eating disorder loves college, I had to realize (again) that I can not live a fulfilling life with him in it. I deserve to love my body and nurture it. Realizing why Ed loved college so much was my first step in kicking him out. Because at the end of the day, he’s not the one working to get the grades or paying my tuition.
