Why This Blog? (It’s Not About the Laundry)

Don’t air your dirty laundry in public.

Everybody has heard this saying.  As I prepare to share this blog with my Facebook friends, that’s exactly what I’m afraid people will think I’m doing.

I have to admit, I’m writing post while staring at the dirty laundry on the floor of my bedroom, and I would NEVER want anyone to see this mess.  It’s embarrassing.  I get the saying, I really do… but I still have my reasons for keeping this blog.

• People ask me questions a lot.  Questions about EDs in general, about how I’m doing, about how to help friends — you name it, I’ve been asked it.  Hopefully this blog will be a resource for people who genuinely want to learn.
• I’m not embarrassed about my ED.  In fact, taking ownership of what I’ve been through is indescribably empowering.
• Sharing my thoughts with the general public makes me try to put a positive spin on everything.  I don’t want any post to be negative, so sometimes I have to change my perspective and find the positive in everything in order to make something post-able.
• It’s not fair.  It’s not fair that my friends get to keep blogs of their study abroad journeys while my ED has taken away plans to study abroad in Tours, France and in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.  It is fair, though, if I get to share my own journey through recovery.  This journey is just as exciting and just as life changing as study abroad, if not more!
• We, as a culture, need more dialogue about EDs.  The stigma of mental health diseases mystifies me — if I had cancer (God forbid), everyone would reach out for support, want to learn about it, and care more deeply about cancer treatment.  As it stands, people sometimes walk on eggshells around me.  They don’t know what to say, or they’re embarrassed to know what I deal with.  That’s OK; it’s natural to feel uncomfortable around a “sick” person, especially when the disease is one that is so misunderstood.  Did you know, though, that research funding for diseases like autism and Alzheimer’s FAR outstrips funding for ED research, even though EDs are the most fatal mental illnesses and affect far more people?  That’s not right.  We need to talk.  I need to blog.

So, if you see my sharing as TMI, if you think I’m airing dirty laundry — take a step back and reconsider.  This ED is such a huge part of my story (the same goes for anyone else, whether currently suffering, in full recovery, or anywhere in between), and I won’t be silent about it.  Instead of dirty laundry, I think I’m putting on a fashion show — sharing the beauty of information, positivity, resources, and my own journey to anyone who reads this blog.

A Letter to My Eating Disorder

Hey ED,

How dare you?  How dare you come into my life just as my prime began and take those years from me?  How dare you know me better than I know myself?

Thanks to you, I can’t wake up without feeling sick.  I can’t make it through the day without an embarrassing amount of medications and self-soothing techniques.  I can’t look in the mirror or walk across campus without your thoughts taking over my head.  You’re not good enough, you say.  Nobody really likes you.  You’ll never be successful.  You’re lazy.  Why can’t you just be normal?  You’re so awkward.  Nobody feels bad for you.  Nobody feels anything towards you.

You’ve taken over my mind.  You kidnapped me as a child and I’ve been captive ever since.  You’ve given me Stockholm syndrome, thinking the only place I’m safe is in your grasp.  You’ve invaded my faith, the only thing that’s authentically mine, making me think that food and weight have some kind of moral value.  You’ve made me hate and feel alien to myself — my personality, my accomplishments, my experiences, and especially my body.

Speaking of which — you’ve ruined my body.  You’ve taken it over and made its weight plummet down and skyrocket up over and over again.  You’ve given me constant nausea, tremors, aches, bruises, crushed bones, and even heart palpitations.

You’ve stolen what could have been a great life.  You’ve decided when I have enough energy get out of bed, when I look acceptable enough to see friends, and when my brain will work well enough to study.  You’ve taken the well-meaning words of my loved ones and twisted them to mean horrible things.  Even when I’ve tried to get rid of you, you’ve taken away opportunities to study abroad, to hang out with friends, and just to have a normal life for the sake of treatment.  You told me I couldn’t do ballet, stealing the only dream I ever had.  Unfortunately for you, I don’t need a dream to define me anymore.

So, ED, once again: how dare you?  How dare you control fourteen of my twenty-two years on this earth?  How dare you take the time others were using to make the grade, score the job, or date the perfect guy and make me spend it either in your grip or in treatment? How dare you use my body and my face and my voice to turn friends, family, teachers, and coworkers off of me? How dare you call yourself Olivia?  That’s MY name, and it’s MY turn to use it.

(deep breath): an introduction

(deep breath)

Hi.  I’m Olivia.

And I have an eating disorder.

If you know me, you probably already know about my ED.  You may not know much other than that I have one, and that’s fine.  I don’t want my writing to be an outlet for rubberneckers or the morbidly curious.

What I do want is to share.  I want to share resources, experiences, insights, and hope with all of you readers.

I’ll soon (like tonight soon) create a separate post detailing my story, along with a post that is a letter to my ED.  I also hope, as this blog progresses, to post entries related to helping a friend, recognizing ED behaviors, getting help, and chronicling my own journey.

As far as this intro goes, though, I’ll keep it short and sweet.  Ballet is the love of my life, and I once had a teacher say that dance is the ultimate way of claiming space.  I love that idea — I can take up space.  I have a right to inhabit space.  I don’t have to shrink.  I can fill up an entire stage, and I can make it look beautiful.  I may have to go through a lot of pain to get there, but there’s something transcendent that can only be portrayed by a real, physical body in motion.  If I can ever use my body that way, it will be a huge step towards full recovery.  (See my “About” section for a quote that perfectly captures this feeling!)

So this is me, talking to you.  It’s weird and awkward.  My words will never come out perfectly right, but if you bear with me, I promise to make those words count.