"If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that it’s okay not to be okay. And that when you’re not okay, you need some people who love you to help you through."
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the moments of turmoil, for the months of worry; I’m sorry I wasn’t thankful for what you were doing to help me in those moments. Most of all, I’m sorry for everything you went through as you watched me struggle without being able to do much but be there for me (which was actually quite a lot). For months you watched me struggle. Those of you who learned about my eating disorder later, when the physical effects were becoming clearer were confused, and then nervous as you saw how deep in it I truly was.
You sent me to doctors, gave me ultimatums, asked me what I’d eaten, told me that yes, I did belong in the hospital. And at the time, I was angry. That anger was misplaced towards you instead of towards my eating disorder, the illness that had torn my life apart. I felt like you were attacking me when all you wanted was to take care of me. And in that anger and fear of losing my eating disorder, something I had begin to put above all other relationships, I felt like I was the only one being affected. But I was wrong.
You struggled as you watched me suffer. You suffered, too. Through the meals pushed around my plate, the runs you watched me go on, knowing I was endangering my health, and my avoidance of any sort of discussion about gaining weight, eating more, and generally recovering, you suffered. Because you couldn’t choose recovery for me. And I couldn’t see how much I was hurting you. To be completely honest, it still shocks me that you care about me so much that you were hurting so much as you watched me lose control to my eating disorder. But you showed me my worth; you showed me how much I meant to others. If I meant something to you, I had to take care of myself.
I am so thankful for having you to take care of me; for telling me that you wouldn’t watch me slowly kill myself, reminding me that food wasn’t the enemy, and recently telling me that struggling is not a disappointment because “this is recovery and it’s tough and sticky and messy and we understand that it’s not all warrior goddesses and sunshine.” I’m so thankful that as I recovered, you helped me put the meaning on our good times together, instead of the food we were eating.
But above all, I am still so so sorry. This year has affected you, too. You have lied to others about me and have kept secrets that no one should be burdened with. I was so wrapped up in how hard things were for me that I forgot you needed support, too. I am sorry for everything you guys have gone through and dealt with as a result of this, for the money spent on treatment (calling out my health insurance for kicking me out of the hospital, by the way…), lost on school, spent on “safe foods” that were the strangest combinations that no one would eat in a non-disordered world.
So this is also permission for you to be a little angry at me and my eating disorder. This is me telling you that it is 2000% okay for you to be not-okay and to tell me about it, whether it’s about me, your significant other, an exam, or any other topic. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that it’s okay not to be okay. And that when you’re not okay, you need some people who love you to help you through.
Love,
Sam