It's not about food.

There, I said it. This disease is so entirely not about food; I can't believe it's diagnosed as an "eating" disorder. When people in my life want to back away from the real scope of it, they dumb down the title to "eating problems"- in which case it would certainly be all about food. But it's not. Everything abnormal, supposedly maladaptive thing I've ever done with food has been a reaction. A symptom of the problem. There are definitely other symptoms. So why do we name the disease based on one of them? Why do we mislead the entire world into thinking it really has to do with weight and food and calories? Maybe that makes it easier for the disorder to work: if everyone else feels comfortable collapsing it into a symptom, there's no reason for me, as a sufferer, to go into it any further. It's an interesting contract, but I don't remember signing.

I've said before that if I could name it, I'd call it scasid - shame/ control/ abandonment/ scarcity/ identity disorder. That makes about as much sense to most people as this disease makes in my mind, but at least it goes into what the issues are (for me.) That way, I wouldn't be nearly two years into recovery, still identifying (for the first time) the other ways in which this disorder affects me. I binge and purge and restrict my schoolwork. Did you know that? I feel the same way after a purchase that I used to feel after a meal. That same shame-fueled desperation. The undermining of self and urgent need to compensate. Quick. Reign this girl back in. Keep her in bounds. Keep her from seeing herself as good, from thinking she deserves good things. Keep her from living...

I'd think it were me, if I listened to that diagnosis. Eating disorder. I'd think I was a completely unnatural freak, if I hadn't spent the past year and a half listening to therapists catch on to or point out the recurring themes. It's not me. It's an illness, that I'm really ready to be done with...tonight. Lucky for me, it takes longer; lucky, since I'll be more hesitant next week, or the week after. I'll feel unsure for a moment, again and again and again. I get better in spite of it.

I used to wish it were about the food, so I could have an excuse to avoid eating in recovery. "It's really about the food; therefore I really shouldn't eat this, and there aren't any other issues to get into." Now, sometimes, I wish it were about the food because I've come so far with that aspect. I've gotten so good at eating three meals a day, almost no matter what. And I wish that meant all the feelings which kept me in the disease were as far gone. It doesn't. I've done (and will continue to do) my best with the "eating problems" even the least-willing people see. I've subtracted them from the equation, almost.

So, what are all these feelings I'm left with? And can you explain again how I deal with this without going back?

(I try my best to have needs now, and) I think I need that.

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