The Memories

Anyone living in this century knows what Snap chat is. The infamous app that allows us to communicate through pictures and chats and stories of our daily lives. Somewhat recently, Snap chat has incorporated a new feature where it shows us pictures we took and stories we posted from days, months, or years ago on that same day. Facebook does the same thing, but Facebook is not Snap chat. A lot of people, mostly young adults, use Snap chat over Facebook, I being one of those young adults. I have taken a lot of pictures on my Snap chat, pictures that I never really remember taking and never knew I actually took...until I see them on Snap chat. Almost every picture I have been reminded of in the past month or so have been memories from the time of my life when I was a slave to my eating disorder. In treatment, surrounded by several other individuals struggling with the same disease, we used to talk about how we would obsess over old pictures of ourselves and the image of ourselves that our eating disorder kept telling us to go back to. We all could relate to scrolling through our camera roll from just months or even days ago and wishing we still looked like that. We called it grieving our past body. The sickening part about this is that this grief was manipulated and driven by the eating disorder deep in our minds. It was grief that only ED made us believe was real. He made us believe that the body we had, made up of skin and bones, was the perfect body that we let slip out of our fingers. For a lot of us, this usually just made us angry. This made us deny what everyone told us about our illness, and it made us despise anyone and everyone who tried to take it away. I will admit to hating a few people and despising the things they said about me and about what I "needed". I wanted the illness all to myself and I wanted nothing and no one to change it or take it away from me. My whole point to this is that, pictures can really take a toll on our minds. And while most people find joy and euphoria from seeing old pictures of themselves and of the times they had months and years ago, for those of us in recovery from their past selves, seeing these pictures can have the same effect, but not in a good way.

In saying this, I want to point out that I have not been effected by these pictures I have recently seen on my Snap chat, compared to how I used to be effected by them as I just described. When I open my memories, whether it be on Snap chat or Facebook and see myself from a year ago in a place I wish I was never in, I remind myself of just that. That I never want to be in that place again. That I never want to feel the physical and mental pain of that experience again. Seeing these pictures now, just reminds me of the awful, cruel, harmful, and deadly things I was doing to myself, and what it had ultimately put me and the people around me through. The one thing that I hate ED the most for while seeing these pictures again, is what it did to my family and friends. What it put them through and the stress and worry that they encountered. In a discussion with my therapist about this exact topic, I explained to her how I always thought that what I was doing, and what I was hiding was only impacting and effecting me, and only me. I never thought anyone had any idea of what might be going on. I never thought anyone cared as much as they did. I was clearly wrong, and I honestly feel pretty stupid for that, because anyone with eyes who saw me at that time, would be concerned, or at least question.

I remember my therapist in Denver once telling me that I was going through a grieving process (as mentioned earlier). She said I was grieving my eating disorder. At first, I didn't believe a word of that. I thought, of course I don't grieve my eating disorder, but I started to notice, that this actually might be true. I noticed it when I started counting the number of times a day that I scrolled through my Instagram, through my camera roll, and deeply wishing, every time I clicked on a new picture, that I had the body I used to have. Then, I went through the re-feeding process, and my grief slowly started to turn into hate. Re-feeding, as best as I can describe it, in a physical explanation, is a period of time in Anorexia Nervosa treatment where you MUST gain weight. From my experience, it was the part of my treatment when every meal I had left me feeling like I was going to be sick. Where every meal left me close to tears, not only because of the cruel thoughts going through my brain, but because of the pain each meal left me with. It’s hard to explain to people what re-feeding actually is like if you haven’t truly experienced it yourself. Think of it as stuffing a teddy bear, except in stead of cotton, you’re stuffing it with nails (Sorry for the graphic image but this is the truth, and I’m not gonna sugar coat it). I can remember one night after dinner, when we had a more challenging, high-caloric meal, I left the dining room feeling like my stomach was going to rip if I walked too fast. Every step I took, sent a tightening shock of pain to my belly. I remember that night laying in my very small, rock hard bed, being SO angry. Angry at the physical sensations I was feeling, angry at myself for letting this happen to me, and angry that food was causing me actual, physical, pain. Those were the times when I grieved for my anorexic body the most. So you’re probably thinking, “why in the world would you want to go back to having a body like that, especially if you know what re-feeding does to you?” Well I can’t really answer that question, except for the only reason I can think of is because ED told me so. He said, "that's what you are supposed to look like, and now you're just a fat cow who can't stop eating." If that doesn't give you somewhat of an idea on why it's so hard for anorexic individuals to let go of ED and their emaciated body, then I"m not sure what else I can say to you. It is a constant battle that we fight everyday with what our mind tells us, and what our heart tells us.

For me, I know in my heart that being emaciated, weak, immobile, at risk for heat attack, and extremely underweight is not healthy. I know that. I logically know, deep in my heart, that this is not what I want for a life, and that is not what I want my body to be, but my mind frustratingly can not agree. My mind tells me all of the reasons why those are not bad things and how in the end, they are all just side effects to being "healthy." I could make a list of different excuses my mind has made up for the things that my heart knows. It is a battle. An angel vs. devil, good vs. evil, hero vs. villain, heart vs. mind battle every single day, but it gets easier. I was just recently saying this to a friend who is struggling hard with depression. I know there are better things to say than just "it gets easier," but it really does. As I continue to see these memories pop up on my phone screen, I am reminded of the moments I had in treatment, sitting in another group therapy session, thinking to myself, "I am never going to leave this place," and "this pain is never going to end," while in fact, as I lay in my own bed just a few days ago, about to fall asleep, I looked around my room, remembering that memory, and thinking to myself this time... "I left that place," and "the pain actually did end....and I made it home."