Haven't I Given Enough?
The Cults sing the song 'Gilded Lily', the chorus being 'Haven't I given enough, given enough?' and when I heard it for the first time, all I could think of was how my slavery to anorexia sustains and increases, whilst its demands only become more brutal and extensive. I always manage to find happiness in my day but I can't help but wonder how much I could find if I hadn't given so much of myself to this mental illness. I didn't ask for anorexia but once I developed it, I answered all it asked of me. So now I'm asking you, anorexia, 'Haven't I given enough?'
At the beginning of my treatment for anorexia nervosa, professionals reassured me that most of the damage I'd done to my body would be reversible. Now, years on, much of the damage I've done physically is irreversible, especially considering that I am a long and enduring, treatment-resistant anorexic. My liver function has been abnormal for years, I was diagnosed with osteopenia that later developed into osteoporosis, I have amenorrhea and delayed puberty, I'll never be able to conceive, hypotension has failed to remain under control, my nails and hair are permanently brittle, I suffer, shamefully, with incontinence and insomnia without medication. Yet, when I ask you, anorexia, 'Haven't I given enough?' your response is 'Never.' I am physiologically and psychologically exorbitantly unwell in many regards, yet majority of the time, I ask, 'When will I be sick enough?'
Christmas is my favourite time of year. Mum made it that way. She involved everything that's magical about Christmas in our tradition... The gifts, the gift wrapping, the gifts labelled from family and then the gifts labelled from Santa and Rudolph, singing Christmas carols on Christmas Eve, the Christmas stocking, the music, walking and driving through the streets to see the lights, the cookies, milk and mince pies left out, the real Christmas tree and the decorating of the tree. Mum would do that every year all by herself as a single mother and never once did she let out that it was a hassle or a burden in any way. To her, the sheer joy and delight on my face every year was why she continued to do it. Last year was the first Christmas I'd ever spent away from my mum. I haven't asked her how it felt for her but I know that considering how much it killed me, it would've killed her more. It's a moment I spend all year looking forward to. I anticipate hugging my Mum on Christmas morning and seeing how excited she is to watch me unwrap all my presents. I've never hated anorexia more than I did that day. Yet, still, a year later, when I ask 'Haven't I given enough?' anorexia says: 'No. Never.' And that conversation pierces my heart like an open wound doused in salt.
I was never and could never be enough for my biological Dad. When I wasn't being compared to those who were, I wasn't worth enough for him to be there physically. And when he was, it was often spent telling me why and how I was lacking. Over time, his outside voice became the inside voice I used to speak to myself. When I see my friends complimenting themselves, whether it be thinking they look pretty in a photo or cute in a new outfit they bought, I can't help but marvel at what it must be like for it to feel normal, possible and okay to be confident or even just neutral within yourself. When I catch myself in a reflection, I pull every square inch of myself a part, scrutinising every little cube. If I'm lucky, I'll find a few parts of me that I don't mind, but they're only the parts I've moulded to look a certain way with a severe sickness. And every other inch that isn't lucky is despised, hated and loathed. I can't remember the last time I felt pretty, naturally, for a part of me that was normal and simple, like thinking my eyes were pretty or that I had nice style. These thoughts don't even occur to me when I look at myself.
I see nothing more and everything less.
I ask 'Haven't I given enough?' but I know I'll never be.
II think it is possible to be enough for anorexia, even if it's just in a little way every now and then. But along the way, I've learnt that feeling 'enough' for something trying to kill you comes at a cost. Feeling 'enough' for an important cause or someone who loves you just as you are will never be tinged with the sadness, guilt and shame that an eating disorder does. 'Haven't I given enough?' Well, anorexia, I think I've actually given you too much.
Kisses,
COS x
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