How My Eating Disorder Impacted My Relationships

 

During one of my first group sessions in treatment for my eating disorder, the counselor asked us how our eating disorders impacted our relationships. I remember immediately thinking how my eating disorder affected me in physical, romantic relationships. My stomach lurched as memories came flooding back of a hand curling around my bicep, pointer finger to pinky. The words, “You’re so fucking tiny” echoed in my mind.

              Each one of us wrote down our thoughts on a piece of paper and placed them in a jar. The counselor read each of our thoughts and censored the possibly triggering ones.

              To my surprise most people discussed how their eating disorder affected their relationships with their friends and family. I felt embarrassed and a little ashamed that I had not thought of my own friends and family.

              I guess that was the whole point of the exercise- to have us think outside our eating disorders in how they affect us and more closely examine how our eating disorders affect our friends and families.

              To my knowledge, most people around me and even many of my friends were unaware that I had an eating disorder at the time that I was suffering. (I only assume this because when I did come clean about my eating disorder, friends and family were shocked. Some felt betrayed that I had kept something so big from them.)

              Although friends and family could not see my eating disorder, they could see my pain. They watched me race with tears in my eyes and a limp in my step through injury after injury after injury.

I called it willpower, discipline, determination.

They called it what it was: stubbornness and stupidity.

              They saw my eyes glaze over before races as I became overwhelmed by a familiar wave of pre-race anxiety. In these moments, I became unreachable, every thought was swallowed by distress. My mom would attempt to quell my anxiety by hyping me up before races, reassuring me I would not forget how to run, that although I felt too tired to move, as soon as the race started, adrenaline would take over.

My mom also attempted to reassure me after the bad races- the ones where I would cry silently because I felt too slow or too fat.

I knew it pained her to see me cry repeatedly over races and in frustration over my unshakeable injuries. She was convinced running was not good for me- that it was tearing me apart.

I recall vehemently disagreeing.

However, in hindsight, I think she was right.

My eating disorder was a monster that mercilessly clawed at me. That monster convinced me I wanted nothing more in life than to be thin and fast. My ed had no patience for anyone or anything that stood in my way of achieving these goals. Concerned people like my mom, my persistent injuries, and bad races, aggravated my eating disorder. My ed voice would ring louder than ever in my ears, demanding me to isolate from concerned family and friends, to exercise in any way I could, to start running earlier and longer than I should after injuries, and to eat minimally no matter my hunger level.

              I began to lie about my food and exercise habits. I lied about working out- I would say I was at the gym for less time than I really was- that I got caught up talking to a friend. I lied about how many times I would run a day- or claim that the mileage was necessary because I was a cross country runner.

              I lied about taking laxatives.

              My eating disorder made a liar out of me.

              I continued to also lie to my friends about how often I would run and work out. If I were unexpectedly invited out to ice cream or a meal, I would not go. Anxiety over gaining weight over unplanned calories in my day made me cancel far too many plans. Because of my ed, I missed out on so much more than just food; I missed out on so many memories.

              In late high school and early college, at the height of my ed, I did have a select few, close friends that knew about my eating disorder. I only allowed them this knowledge because they either figured it out on their own, or because, they themselves also struggled with an ed.

              It was these friends that got me through my first couple years of college. The unspoken knowledge in sharing the same struggled bonded us; it kept us close. (It is not the only thing that kept us close- however, I believe that there is a uniquely powerful bond between people sharing the same secret sicknesses.)

Sometimes I look back on those years and wonder how healthy these relationships really were. I cannot help but speculate if my eating disorder was insidiously feeding theirs, and if their eating disorders were insidiously feeding mine.

In these friendships, we would fall and catch each other after bursts of indulgences of ed behaviors. We would cry and laugh, starve, and run, and eat copious amounts of pizza and cookie dough. We endlessly compared our bodies to the others’. Secretly, or not so secretly, both of us wished we were as thin as the other. I remain friends with some of these people. However, some degree of separation was required to maintain the friendship. We had to go through the ugly parts of recovery on our own so that we could truly recover.

Some of these friendships ended after the degree of separation. (In these instances, I cannot help but wonder that perhaps our eating disorders were the only thing that bound us together.)

There was one friendship I had where neither of us knew the other was silently suffering from the same sickness. (It was not until years after the friendship ended where we found out the other was struggling.)

We spent seemingly every waking moment together talking and laughing- and- we never ate. Looking back, I think we justified not eating because the other person never brought it up. The closest we came to talking about eating was when we talked about our love of not eating. We shared the same feeling of euphoria when we had an empty stomach. We felt crystal clear- laser focused.

This was the first time I talked openly about aspects of my eating disorder that I secretly loved. If I told anyone else, they would have been worried. This friend was never worried. They agreed with me. Because of this, I felt like I could take on the world with this person. We could be skinny and powerful and beautiful together.

Unknowingly, we were making each other sicker.

One day, this friend did not want to be friends with me anymore. I did not understand why and I was devastated and heartbroken. However, years later, after learning that both of us were suffering from an eating disorder at the time of our friendship, I know that neither of us were going to get better until the friendship ended. Perhaps this heartbreak was a blessing in disguise.

It is this specific heartbreak that has taught me that it is okay that I have lost some friends through recovery. Sometimes, you must lose friends to not lose yourself. And that is okay. I know I have other friends and family who love and support me. 

And you do too.

Remember, you are not alone. There are so many people rooting for you even if you are not rooting for yourself.

With love,

Emily