FOR-NEVER 21

Dolls, they say that the 20s are the best years of your life. But as many of my friends turn 21, including myself in a few months, my reality has become increasingly tainted with a conflicting truth: The fact that I feel I'm not living up to these years. I have begun comparing my life with the lives of my 21-year-old friends, witnessing many become nearly finished with their uni degrees, establish more serious stages within what was once just a fling, and discover independent living situations. This post is for those who, though, are 21, have never felt further from what 21 is 'supposed' to be.

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It wasn't until I developed an eating disorder that I truly understood how most social outing occur in the presence of food. It's not something you necessarily notice until you become deathly afraid of it. It's one thing to have an eating disorder but another complex layer of mine, is an inability to eat infront of others. The only two people I can consistently and easily eat in front of are my Mum and Dad. This aspect of an eating disorder is common amongst those with longterm eating disorders. In my primiative development of anorexia, I wanted to eat less than others or not at all. But when it became a concern for those who loved me, there wasn't a single moment where my not eating would go unnoticed. As the awareness of my suffering grew, thankfully, so did the understanding and support I was offered. However, for aquiantances and extended relatives, the judgement, comments and misunderstanding prevailed so much so that it seemed it became more important for them to have an opinion than it did to have compassion, to endeavour to understand or to listen. It was within these widths that my fear to eat infront of people developed. It takes immense planning, consideration and perfect timing to create an environment where I am prepared to engage in what I am most afraid of... eating. Initially, the risk of an uneducated comment being made, at best, deterred me away from one meal. But now, this risk is life-threatning as it can blow all of my thoughts out of control and send me spiraling for days at best and weeks at worst. I do not have the odds in my favor. Eating infront of others is not only a fear, it's taking a chance on my life, my well-being and my recovery.

It isn't as simple as a choice.

Nothing anymore is simple.

21 is supposed to be 2am kebabs with your best friend in broken stilettos and a mini dress on a sidewalk in a forgotten alley. 21 is supposed to be meeting your mum in the kitchen at midnight, high and having the munchies. 21 is supposed to be celebratory birthday dinners for every other newly 21-year-old friend. 21 is not supposed to look like this... Crying over dinner that has been meticulously planned, is commencing at the perfect time, spread on the cleanest plate, overlayed with words of encouragement, a squishy toy in hand and 'safe' people gathered.

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It's important before I write this that I make it clear how utterly and divinely my parents have loved me, throughout my sickness and my health, despite, in light of and because. In combination with online comments, friends and other family members, labelling me daily as a failure to my parents, I grew increasingly insecure and ashamed of the daughter I am to them. I think it's natural for a child to seek approval and praise from their parents, yet for me, it wasn't ever something I needed to seek. I had no doubt. My Mum and Dad are unique in their choice to offer me a special type of support, foundation and warmth. I know this because I spent a childhood chasing a biological father whose love, acceptance and respect were things that I longed for. Before my parents had the experience of anorexia that they do now, they began to voice their disappointment and anguish with me for all of the events, meals and moments that I excluded myself from or couldn't participate in. It bitterly stung (and it still does) to see the look on my parents' faces every time I acted in a way that didn't align with the 21-year-old daughter they thought they'd raised. The sting amplified as the societal comments estranged me, developing an awareness of the reality which was that I was an outcast. I feel that I don't 'fit' into society in the way that other 21-year-olds fit. As much as I would love to dance on the top of bars, run through city streets and be drunk on alcohol and life, at this stage in my life, that 21-year-old version of myself is not one I'm ready to be. Even though it isn't ruled out as a possibility for my future, I'm 21 years old now and I feel an astronomical emptiness from the voided mould that exists.

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The time that I left school was the time that severe struggles with anorexia were resurfacing. When I left school, I had no idea what I wanted to do, where I wanted to take my schooling or who I wanted to be. It was my lack of direction that was contributing to my eating disorder. Anorexia made me feel I was achieving, it granted me control and told me I was good at something. I've learnt now that many other new graduates felt as unsure of their future as I did. But what differentiated me from them was I knew that my uncertainty was something I was willing to sit with but attending university for the sake of everyone attending university was not. I refused to start my life in debt to a system that wouldn't act as an investment in the years to come. Although it has proven to be one of my greatest decisions, not burying myself in a degree I didn't like, it has been a difficult decision nonetheless to watch everybody I know my age taking and succeeding in the route that society approves of. Writing for You Dolls has allowed me to discover my inextricable love for writing, uncover a supportive community and establish a career. Although on the other side, I wouldn't have it any other way, it was throughout that my writing, which proved me to be an outcast, occasionally left me asking more questions than it did answering my problems, my feelings of inadequacy and my challenges. Part of me just wanted to and still does desire normality... Finding pleasure in following the pathway everybody else takes. But I just knew, with certainty, that following that pathway could never fulfil me.

Even if I'll for-never be like my peers, at least I can honestly say that I for-ever followed my heart.

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Maybe I'm for-never 21 in more ways than not. But I must acknowledge how drastically, entirely and surely my illness has led me to grow up in ways I wouldn't have dreamed of. I want you to know, Dolls, that if you feel for-never 21, it doesn't mean you don't have the rest of your life to make up for this year when you, not society, not your colleagues and not your family decide that the time is yours.

Kisses,

COS x