I think that, despite all the things I tell myself sometimes, there is actually a reason why I don't go back to starvation.

On another journal site I'm part of, one of my friends wrote this entry a few days ago. I'm sharing it with you because it is relevant, and not entirely boring. The name in the entry has been changed.

I don't know why Camille felt the need to call me yesterday and tell me she went/nearly went into cardiac arrest over the weekend. Due to starvation. It was the first thing out of her mouth. No 'how are you?' or anything. Just me, me, me.

I don't care, damnit. I mean, I care on the basic level that people give a shit about other folks, but why did she call ME? Did she expect me to rush over and nurture her back to health? So frustrating.

I feel like shit recently. Saw my psychiatrist and she bumped my Prozac up to 30 mg, heading to 40's in three weeks. She also lectured me about the whole anorexic stint I've been on.

Yes, yes, I know, I know. Eating, good. Starving, bad. Skin, good. Bones, bad. Tasting food, good. Tasting acid, bad.

Trying to get a handle on it. Need to eat to train for the [constabulary]. Feel very out of control of myself.


The first thing I felt when I read this was... anger. "Camille" was clearly just calling this other girl to get attention, to show off, to express some sick pride in the fact that she's so ill she nearly had a fucking heart attack.

And I realized: STARVING IS NOT COOL.

It's not a fucking fun little game to stop eating and nearly die because your heart fails. It's not a good way to get somebody's attention or concern, and it's not cool or popularity-enhancing. And even though I know the attention-seeking aspect can be part of the disorder, it just makes me want to scream, at everyone who has restrictive EDs and joins these communities and thinks that, somehow, what they're doing to their bodies is actually right or even justifiable.

IT'S NOT.

Starvation is not fucking justifiable. Starvation does not make a person beautiful or likeable. Starvation is a way to hide from the fact that you're scared, or miserable, or have no idea how to deal with people or with life. It does not make you a better person -- it makes you physically worse, which leads to the worsening of your mental state. It may seem like a clever or fun way to cope, and also "get pretty" at the same time, but IT IS NOT. That's a bunch of fucking bullshit. Eating disorders are a way to cop out of life and out of feelings. They are not something to be proud of, to call your ex-girlfriend to brag about and expect sympathy and support for. Your hospital stays, the number of times your health professionals tell you you have to eat for your own health, and that this is really not good for you -- those are not fucking markers of how successful you are, how much control you have. They are markers of how out of control you are, and how nonpresent you actually are in real life.

When you starve, you get the comfortable experience of never actually having to deal with your shit. You have a means to distract yourself, and it works quite well. But it is complete and utter bullshit, and it's not a real life at ALL -- not even CLOSE -- and I am sick of people portraying starvation as an actual lifestyle. It is a way OUT of life, not a way IN.

And I guess what I'm saying, and what I'm doing in my struggle not to restrict, is choosing to at least TRY to deal with my shit, and not alter my body because my mind is uncomfortable with something or another.

I remember restriction. I remember the way not eating affects your brain, the way it dulls your thinking and concentration and leaves you obsessive-compulsive and anxious, always needing some sort of background noise or television, always needing something to do to distract yourself even further. I remember the days that revolved entirely around food, the way I couldn't get to sleep without the heaters on bust, the way I'd lie in bed and feel my heartbeat slow and slow and weaken, and be terrified that one night I'd be lying there and it would suddenly just stop. I remember the nights of anxiety wherein I was almost convinced that it would do exactly that, and some narrow strand of fortune must have saved me from it, but tomorrow I might not be so lucky.

I don't want that anymore.

Worrying that I am going to have cardiac arrest, similar to my proud friend up there, is NOT COOL.
Obsession with food, to the point that nothing else but eating disorders and eating disorder research and friends and groups exists in my life, is NOT COOL, and NOT OKAY.
Being that completely fucking out of it? That's not even a life. That's a waste of a fucking life.

And I don't want it anymore.

I wish to fight with everything I have in order to try and ensure that that never, ever comes back.

Because I still remember it all too vividly... and I don't ever, ever want my life to be like that again.


I have so much more to live for than just an eating disorder, and I really hope to someday be able to give up ALL the symptoms and just eat normally and live normally. But giving up restriction was the first, and probably the most essential, step. The other stuff I can work on.

One day, one hour, one minute at a time.