“You just have to WANT to recover.”
A co-worker said that to me about a year ago. I remember at the time being so offended by that sentence.
In a way I still am. However, my perspective on it has changed so much since then. So. Let me take you
back to the start:
At the age of twelve, my battle with disordered eating began: I developed anorexia. Today I'm 24.
Meaning I have lived with this for half my life.
Did I choose this?
Hell no.
Did I never want to recover? Not once in twelve years?
Of course, I did.
I still remember every attempt at recovery. I remember every relapse. And the common denominator was:
I never did it for myself. So for example, if my motivation was my dad that one time, then one thing he
said could put me right back to the start. I relied too much on everyone else because I didn't feel worthy
to be my own reason. I didn't even know if I really wanted to live, I was just about strong enough to exist.
So this year. This year was the year of my most dangerous relapse and the year of my beginning true
recovery. What made this year differently?
In the beginning: nothing.
I started again by relying on other people.
On doctors who told me I wasn't skinny enough yet.
On clinics that wouldn't admit me nor help me with the paperwork.
On friends who in the eyes of my anorexia couldn't do anything right.
On parents who I thought were too busy to care.
I hit my rock bottom. I realized that no one was coming to save me and that I was going to die soon. I
could feel it. Feel my body shutting down, everything slipping away. I also realized something else:
I didn't want to die. The thought of it petrified me.
That realization led to utter panic because I didn't know if I was past the point of saving. I wasn't a
doctor, I didn't know what was happening inside my body, how much damage I had caused.
I started by reading everything on refeeding I could find. Every study. And I gave it my best shot, while
being as scared for my life as I had never been before.
Recovery turned out to be the most painful and disgusting thing I have ever gone through and that's just
being honest. It is also the best thing I have ever done and I would do it all again, I would make all the
same choices. Recovery isn't A choice. Recovery is many choices and it's a commitment.
Physical recovery was so much pain, so many tears. I felt so weak, my body throwing back at me every
hour of compulsive exercise as I finally allowed it to rest. My pulse going up to a 100 after I tried to eat
some chocolate and dragged myself to the ER at midnight. Creating meal plans with weekly increases.
Dealing with each increase on my own. Crying – so much crying. Starting Minnie Maud on my own in an
attempt to fight to get my period back. Crying when I did, because in a way it feels horrible to not be sick
anymore. And no one talks about this but it's important: this sickness is our drug and we don't hate
everything about it. It lies to us all the time and everyone ends up believing the voice in their head if it's
there long enough. The voice in my head was screaming. But I kept going, and going, and going.
I'm so glad I did. I never thought I would be this healthy – especially psychologically speaking. I am
changing my life so much at the moment, finally going after things I hadn't before because I thought I
wouldn't be alive for them. I have a life.
I don't think that it's as easy as “you have to just want to”. I never did. I never will. I wanted to give up so
many times. My friends were so important at that time. They always are. Their support still is.
However, this time, although I probably couldn't have done it without them – I didn't do it FOR them. I
did it for me. I want a life. I have a life, but I want more life. More experiences, more memories. I want a
healthy, functioning body. I want to be a woman that believes she is worth something. I am someone now.
Someone who is so sure of herself and what she is capable of that food and her body finally takes a
backseat. I am ok with my body. I don't need to love it, I don't need to hate it on all days of the year. No
one does. I am not so concerned anymore. Food will probably never be easy, I don't expect it to. But it
doesn't rule me anymore. It's a part of life. That's it.
In the past few weeks I have developed a sort of mantra I keep saying to myself:
Be brave enough to feel whatever it is you want to starve away.
Eating disorders aren't a choice. I wouldn't wish my sickness on my worst enemy. Recovery sometimes
isn't a choice or linear either. But your reason for recovery is your choice.
And that reason should always be you.
As Oscar Wilde once said: “To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance”
Written by: Annabelle Schramm
@recovery_red on instagram