Food has always consumed me.
When I’m eating, I’m thinking about not eating.
When I’m not eating, I’m thinking about eating.
Now that my body has to deal with it, my life is growing a little more difficult.
Recent health implications scared me into trying to gain weight, and over the past three weeks it has been fluctuating; moving from 38kgs to 42kgs, and now back to 39kgs. I relapse again and again at the very start of this journey because the consequences of getting better are too grave. The simple fact that the digit on the scale changed from a small 3 to an enormous 4 terrified me.
On days when I feel heavier, whether I ate or starved, I lay on my bed lamenting my situation and wondering why I fail to succeed, sinking deeper into this hole of toxicity. Why can’t I overcome my concerns like everyone else? Is being healthy even worth the sacrifice? Maybe it’s not so bad to end up at a hospital bed one day. But then, I remember a photo Mia Findlay shared on her YouTube channel What Mia Did Next of a 19-year-old woman who died at 43kg after her stomach ripped following a binge. She suffered from anorexia and bulimia for five years. You can find the photo and more information regarding the case in the post: “Bulimia Kills …Warning! Graphic Pictures.”
It is a battle between the incentives I have to stop losing weight and the overwhelmingly triggering recovery symptoms. My weight is bound by both my need to survive and my need to feel empty and small.
Forcing your stomach to work after depriving yourself of food has several implications. It’s equivalent to using an old rusty machine without cleaning and oiling it. Your body does not trust you. It’s still preparing for another period of starvation. Your organs need time to catch up after deteriorating for so long.
Thus, being in recovery means you are bloated, constipated, dehydrated and yet still retaining water. Recovery is night sweats, drowsiness, an inability to focus, and a generous dose of sadness. I’ve never really cared for the latter; it is what constitutes being underweight too if you switch night sweats with extreme cold. However, the digestive issues mean heaviness and discomfort – the type that makes me start counting the hours I’ve gone without food.
It’s difficult to eat when you’re facing the likes of gastroparesis and edema. Having gone through it before, I know it’s temporary, and eventually, my weight will go back to normal, but cooping with these symptoms and accepting them as part of recovery is the hardest part.
I never intended to watch my body decompose but here I am again.