The Love Language That Doesn't Talk
I think that when most people think of love languages, they think of communicating 'I love you', physically holding hands or remembering important anniversaries. But there's another love language that I believe is the biggest indicator of true love... It's the love provided when our loved one looks okay and says: 'I'm fine' and is jubilantly laughing. Because it's when everything 'looks' okay that we need our loved ones to recognise how not okay everything truly is. I believe that the most beautiful language of love is written in the words that are left unspoken.
Two years ago, I spent all of my days fearful for the night to fall. Every moment of daylight was spent holding my breath because the moment my pyjamas were on, my head lay on my pillow and I began to count sheep, I would replay and analyse the day that had just been. Most people think that the hardest time for a person with an eating disorder is during their meals but many people with eating disorders, including me, find that it's towards the end of the meal or after the meal that they feel the most guilty, the most shame and the most anxiety stricken. Considering I was experiencing an intense surge of complex emotions at bedtime, I was spending most of my nights in bed, awake, over-thinking, hating myself and crying for at least two hours and often, up to four. And once I finally fell asleep, I had to endure horrific nightmares, waking up most mornings either exhausted or terrified or both. My family and I set up an appointment with my GP, who prescribed me a medication that reduced the severity and frequency of my nightmares and got me to sleep almost immediately. I've had to increase my dose of this medication several times because it works for a while and then things regress again. My eating disorder is cruel but it feels crueller when it affects me so intently and viciously when I'm not awake to fend for myself or receive support. The anorexia in my dreams is more wicked than the anorexia when I'm awake. When my deathly sleep begins again, the world I live in feels unsafe, the air I breathe feels limited and the nighttime is a shadow of everything I've ever feared. But I never go to sleep alone when death is of the night because those who love me most know what it means when my heart grows a little colder, my words become a little less confident and my smile gets ever-so-slightly duller. My dog is the one who notices first. He stops sleeping at the foot of my bed and will rest in the gentle hold of my loving arms and with his kiss resting on my shoulder and his body snuggling into mine. My Dad is by my door at the beginning of every night with a sleepy-time balm that will protect me from the monsters in my mind. And my Mum will wipe every morning tear and tell me that everything will be okay. Their love for me is shown through not the words they speak, but through the individual role they play that has no script. There is no script to supporting me, they just know in their hearts what the right thing is to do. My Mum cannot play the role of my Dad and my Dad cannot play the role of my dog. Nobody in the world can take the place of a person who understands me in the special, unique way that each of them does.
Having an eating disorder, going to the grocery shop is an overwhelming experience. For me, simple tasks like buying something new to even attending the shop take a lot of thought and discussion. To aid in the difficulty that I find such tasks, my Dad comes with me to every shop we do. My Dad has become the only person who understands how to support me at this place that I find so incredibly daunting. My Dad has held me as I've stood, distraught, crying in the middle of the store, he's sheltered me from judgemental people staring at my body and he's remembered everything every time that I'm too scared to ask for. Nobody in the world can support me the way my Dad knows how to at the shops. Truly, he sees through every fake smile, he knows what every type of expression on my face indicates and he knows every different type of comfort I need for every different type of problem. Sometimes, we arrive at the checkout but there's something we've forgotten. My eating disorder is happy that it's won at something and I think I look completely fine but my Dad will look at me, see past anorexia and say 'We've forgotten something.' At this point, I'm not strong enough to tell my Dad what it is. Patiently, he runs through the checklist imprinted in his mind until he recognises the missing link between the list and what isn't in our trolly. The love language between my Dad and me in these moments is the conversation we feel in our hearts, not the words we speak with our lips. Instinctively, my Dad feels the missing words I'm too afraid to say.
Once we have all of the ingredients from the grocery store, I am required to perform the task that is ultimately the hardest... eating. Combined with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, eating is something that has to happen at a specific time, under specific conditions and with specific people. Due to the severity of my illness, the task of eating is difficult beyond my will... Whether or not I desire to eat, if I'm given an opportunity not to, the evil body of anorexia grows legs and begins to run. My family and I have preventative measures in place to ease the relenting urges:
#1 is that my parents simply sit with me. If nobody is present when I'm eating, either all I can think about is the fact that I could 'get away' with not eating or I become burdened with the abusive screams of anorexia. The conversation my parents indulge in drains out the eating disorder... Even a little of their voice can be of considerable effect.
#2 is that twice a day, we have a strict time that we eat. The other times are more flexible but to satisfy my OCD, rigidity and anorexia, these two times are ultimately non-negotiable. Unfortunately, OCD doesn't stop at a time. OCD wants the conditions of the time I'm eating to be 'perfect' or else it makes me believe that the food was a 'waste' or that I'm ungrateful or undeserving. If I feel like the food combined or mixed, if I feel an overload of senses when I hear people chew or scrape their bowls, if I feel like a burden or that I'm misunderstood or if there's discussion around food or shape or weight then in a matter of moments, the world around me can crumble.
Perhaps it sounds like the world that my family and I have created that makes me feel safe and secure is like a bubble and perhaps it's true that I am sheltered. But for the first time, perhaps I don't care. Because our safe world is truly safe, unlike the world created by anorexia that I'd always believed was the safest. In this safe world, I can eat, I can breathe, I can listen and although it isn't a true depiction of society, neither is a hospital bed. A safe world that imitates reality is so much more full of love and truth than that bed with those nurses and with those people who'll never know me as anything beyond the girl who has anorexia.
Kisses,
COS x
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