When a person has an eating disorder nothing is ever enough. No matter how much weight I have lost, it has never felt like enough. I have always wanted to go one step further, lose just a little bit more, lower my BMI by just another point. The target weights I once set myself got lower and lower, and nothing satisfied me. In fact, the less I weighed, the fatter I felt.
Somehow I have been blessed with the constitution of an ox and my body has not reacted badly to years of starvation, bingeing, vomiting and laxative abuse. My organs did not start to fail, my blood tests usually came back normal, my hair never fell out and my teeth didn't start to rot. Rather than seeing that I have been exceptionally lucky, I use it as evidence to tell myself I am not thin enough, that I didn't take my anorexia far enough and that I am not sick enough to deserve my bed in hospital. When my consultant told me that I was ill enough to be detained under the mental health act if I tried to leave hospital, I still felt too fat to be here.
Finally, for the first time I am starting to see how very lucky I have been, and feel greatful rather than guilty. There are patients here who did not get to as low a weight as I did and who have not had anorexia as long, but they have started to lose their hair, damage their teeth or had organ damage. People blame genetics for a lot of flaws, but seeing what I very easily could have done to myself, I am beginning to feel thankful.
Still, enough is never enough. Now that I am attempting recovery, I feel like my positive efforts are never good enough. I look at patients who were admitted just a few weeks before me, who are already managing to eat meals on the unit unsupervised and go for meals out with staff and family members and I am frustrated that I am so far behind that. After almost three weeks in hospital, I am now just at the point where I will allow myself to add a tiny bit of extra milk to a coffee once a day. My doctor has reassured me that the team is happy with my progress, that I am doing well and that the people who are doing well came in here both physically and mentally in better condition to me, but it is still frustrating as recovery feels so far away.....
As I have said before though, it's all about the babysteps. My meal plan has been increased so that, from tomorrow morning, my breakfast will now include half a slice of toast. There is always jam on the table, which we can choose to use or not. Now I have a sweet tooth and love jam, but to be able to allow myself those extra calories and to put jam onto toast when nobody is making me do it feels wrong. The anorexic side of me says that any extra calories are unnecessary, that I don't deserve them, that I need to do everything I can to resist gaining weight and getting better. Luckily there is another side of me - the real me, who is sick of being miserable, sick of being unwell and sick of having a life ruled by a monkey on her shoulder. And it is that side of me which will be in control at breakfast tomorrow!
