Beautiful Things Eating Allows Me To Do
For most people, food is about the energy of life and pleasure. However, for those with eating disorders, that's not always the case. Considering everybody has to eat, it, therefore, must suggest other things to those who have an eating disorder. And for me, one of the things food has become is the fuel that allows me to participate in beautiful components and experiences of life. I want to share what some of those beautiful things are to remind others with eating disorders of the beauty it can be, as sometimes the fear of it is so crippling that it's hard to see beyond it.
Eating food allows me to write my blog, engaging in my greatest passion: Writing. Without food, I don't have the brain capacity to think creatively or intellectually, which are two essential components for the sort of writing that I aspire to, meaningful enough to touch the hearts of thousands of people who suffer from an eating disorder or who have a loved one suffering from an eating disorder. Depending on how much I am restricting or not restricting, nearly everyone close to me recognises the difference in the quality of the blogs I write, even if it's said indirectly. I don't realise how much certain nutrients impact my ability to be eloquent. However, there is undoubtedly a strong link between the two.
Somebody in my family who has been with me for the entirety of the period of my anorexia that began resulting in hospital admissions is my dog. On many occasions, he has been my reason to stay well or to be well enough. He means more to me than I'll ever be able to express through words on a page. I've spent many occasions dreaming of just being with him, for an unlimited, unsupervised amount of time. One of the things that makes him happiest is playing chasies with me on the sand, his favourite place. The few times I've had the sprite to run alongside him have been some of the best, most treasurable occasions of my life. Eating food is the only way I am granted this ability, to run alongside him, my darling angel, Archie.
I find picking flowers therapeutic. Unless I have the energy to go for a long, beautiful walk or to do it without the world turning white, I can't carry out this precious, grounding hobby. It makes me incredibly sad to add one more thing to my lengthy list that, because of having anorexia, I can't do yet another thing that others are deserving and capable of. Hand-picking a fresh bouquet of one of nature's most delicate, pretty, sweet souvenirs and organising them purposefully and carefully by shape and colour is one of the most beautiful mindful activities that eating food allows me to participate in.
My mother's values have always been impeccable but when she took to the values she would impose upon her daughter, she ensured that the two of us would harmoniously live in a house of love. Since I was a little girl, morning hugs have been an important way in which we share our utter love and devotion for and to one another. We even had little nicknames for the different types of cuddles we gave one another such as 'the claw' which was lots of little painless pinches, inviting hysterical laughter and the sweetest silliness. This environment only developed at 10 years old, when my father came into our lives. Every day when I lived at home, we had our morning hugs ritual. There are many components of home life that I've spent longing for during the countless times I've spent sick at the hospital, however, our morning hugs were undoubtedly the one I missed the most. Our hugging ritual grew slightly more complex as my anorexia developed. My dad and I wanted to encapsulate our love for one another as entirely, tightly and grandly as we could, however, my physical body was at times too weak for this. Whilst we had enough love to give each other that we could've squeezed each other until we popped, he had to be gentler in his approach so he didn't fracture me and I lacked the strength to return the amount of love I yearned to demonstrate. Additionally, his hugs changed to a form of him body-checking me. I can feel it when it happens as his fingers slightly hold more pressure at the parts of my back in which my bones protrude.
It isn't so as to upset me. It is so as to miss the parts of me that are no longer there. It is innocently done. It is saddening for the pair of us what I have become.
It is so important for me to have the brain capacity to communicate regularly with my friends. I am a very introverted person, however, that truth melts away when I am in the presence of my beloved friends and family's company, simply their existence bringing out the extrovert in me. That is such a beautiful concept, don't you think, Dolls? Sadly, there are many days when I cease to see this beauty, reducing my beauty to the superficiality that my illness imposes. On those days, I either lack the brain capacity to communicate with them or the physical capacity to spend time with them. On those days, it is not in the moment that I recognise what is happening but rather in hindsight, often in a moment where I've managed to nourish my brain enough that it recognises the true weight of what I've missed out on.
Isn't it beautiful, Dolls, the effect of the sustenance of our life? So much magic comes from eating. Food will never mean just food for anyone... There is magic laced within its veins.
Kisses,
COS x
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