Sometimes I really miss ‘being anorexic’. I was talking to my mum this afternoon, who attends an eating disorder carers support group.
“But,” she said, “I don’t really feel I need to go anymore, your eating is not really a problem now.” And in that moment I felt broken. I wanted more than anything to be anorexic again. I don’t want my mum to have to suffer to the point that she needs a support group, but I desperately wanted to be ill again, to be as ill as the daughters of the other mums that attend the support group.
I miss being skinny. I miss looking ill. I miss the joy I got from losing weight. I hate being bigger. Logically I know that anorexia wrecked my life, took everything from me and gave me nothing but months spent in hospital in return. I know that my life will be so much better if I leave anorexia behind. So why is it tempting me back?