I don’t really like to think back to the time when I had anorexia. I don’t like to think about the way I looked, the way I acted and especially the way I thought. However, I think it is something that I have to do in order to really accept what happened and so that I can fully move on.
My mum and I have always been quite close. The kind of close where we go shopping together or watch films together, though not really the kind of close where we would spend hours talking about our feelings. I liked this.
When I got anorexia this changed. When I think back to our relationship during that time I always imagine her with this certain facial expression. I don’t know if I can fully explain it, it wasn’t quite anger, there was an almost vacancy to it. To me it looked like someone on the brink of losing hope, unaware of what to do, but determined not to do nothing. The main emotion though was sadness, absolute and utter sadness. I hate that I did this to her, I know it was not my fault, but I wish that I could take back the pain that I caused her.
We didn’t talk anymore, not properly. Our conversations were her asking me about food and me lying to her. They were about her wanting me to see a doctor and me refusing. Even when this wasn’t what we were talking about explicitly it was always there. We weren’t friends anymore, I don’t know what we were.
The night I told her I knew I had a problem and that I was getting help, she cried. The first time she saw me finish a meal and dessert she looked pleased. When I started to try on clothes and not look like a skeleton, she complimented me. However, I could still see that there was a sadness whenever there was any reminder about anorexia and what we had been through. She didn’t like to talk about it. She never said, but whenever the conversation came up, she would become teary or move onto something else. That was ok, I understood, I didn’t blame her.
Then there was another turning point. A little while ago I wrote a status about having had anorexia and I have been working with mental health matters to try and raise awareness of mental health. When I first told my mum about this I wasn’t sure what she thought about it. I thought she seemed a bit upset or reserved.
Then one evening last week I got a phone call. It was my mum phoning to tell me that she was proud of me. There were no tears no sadness, just happiness.
Getting over anorexia was difficult, but that phone call made that struggle worth it. What’s more, her acceptance of me and what happened has helped me to accept me and what happened and move on.