I Have No Idea (NEDAwareness 2015, Day 4)

This year’s NEDAwareness theme is “I Had No Idea,” but I’m taking it in a little bit of a different direction with this post…

I have no idea.

To be more specific, I have no idea what people think of me now.

Nobody really knows what others think of them, and most people are probably a little bit bothered by this.  To someone with an ED (and its best friend, anxiety), though, this is freaking terrifying.

I’ve decided to share my story and my journey for many reasons, but sharing — for me, at least — has come at the cost of a mixed social reception.  When people look at me now, knowing what they know, what do they think?

Do they think I’m seeking sympathy or attention?  (Hint: As someone who has spent most of her life trying to shrink, take up less space, and need less, attention is my worst enemy… so no.) Do they think I’m faking?  After all, I’ve taken down all photographic evidence of times when my ED was physically apparent.  Do they think I’m over-sharing?  Do they think I’m vain?  What do they think? 

What do my classmates think?  My high school friends?  My college friends?  My beautiful sorority sisters and loyal (co-ed) fraternity brothers?  My roommates?  My former and current co-workers and bosses?  My family friends?  My dance friends?  My exes?  My crushes?  My friends from treatment?  My internet-stranger audience?

Why do some other girls in recovery get hundreds of likes while I only get a few?  I know validation has to come from within, but why does it sometimes feel like nobody cares?  Are people just curious, rubbernecking for entertainment then slinking away once they’ve dug up some dirt on my life?  Are they bored?  Are they disgusted?

When people speak to me, text me, like my status, or message me with words of encouragement, are those words genuine — or do they feel obligated to say them?  When people say that they’re “there for me,” what does that mean?  When people respond with disbelief (ironically saying “I had no idea!” about my ED), is it because they respect me, or because I was never sick enough?

Worst of all, by far, by far the worst of all, when people avoid me — when they don’t like or comment, when their smiles become strained and distant, when they walk on eggshells around me — what are they thinking?  Are they uncomfortable?  Are they intimidated?  Are they upset?

I have no idea…

… and I probably never will.  That’s something I have to accept, and nobody else can accept it for me.  I have to become the woman that recovery makes me want to be — strong, independent, self-assured — and share my story knowing that I share because I have to.  My story makes me who I am, and if anyone is uncomfortable with that, then I genuinely am sorry.  But your discomfort won’t stop me.

So this is my life.  And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.

— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower