It has really been far too long since I've written on this blog, and I'm sorry for how I've somehow let it completely fall to the way-side over the last few months. Between working and going to school full-time, my life has been a bit crazy and hectic of late, which in many ways has been strangely welcome, as I feel that I am finally creating a life that is more than the small existence I've known for so many years. Things are definitely far from perfect, and I do continue to struggle with various aspects of the eating disorder/am still trying to navigate through the challenges of recovery on a day-to-day basis, but I am building something that feels worth sticking around for, and that is so much more than I've ever been able to say for myself before.
I felt prompted to write on here after receiving the heartbreaking news yesterday that a friend, who I met in treatment several years ago, had passed away last week due to the ongoing struggle she'd had with the disorder. This friend and I hadn't maintained close contact after treatment, but I tried to check in on her every now and then and still attempted to keep tabs on her through social media. I knew that things were not necessarily going "well" for her, but I had no idea how bad things actually were. I don't have words to explain what it felt like to pull up her obituary, reading that she "died peacefully at home", and "was survived by her grandparents, parents, and younger sisters". It just doesn't seem real. And it shouldn't be.
I think that the sentiment is shared by all who knew her, and even those that didn't. She was only 25. She was bright, funny, caring, and so deeply loved by so many people. She deserved a future, a life that would have stretched on for many more years. Death is something we all struggle to make sense of, regardless of the deceased person's age or the cause(s) associated with their parting, but I think in cases such as this one it becomes even more difficult to grasp. I've read through some of the comments left on her online memorial page and her personal Facebook wall, and while I know that all of these messages were written simply to express love for this individual and her family, there were many that expressed sorrow over the fact that she had "lost her battle", how they wish they could have given her "the strength to keep fighting"- and that is what I wanted to take some time to write about this morning.
It is a common way that people speak about illness, especially mental illness - referring to the sick individual as a "fighter", encouraging them to "be strong" to "fight harder" and to not let the illness "win". It is meant, I am sure, as a means of encouragement or empowerment. To somehow communicate to the individual belief that they have the capability to "turn things around". But as someone who has been in that place more times than I would like to recount, I have never experienced it to be either of those things. (encouraging or empowering) Rather, it just exacerbated the beliefs I already held that there was something inherently wrong with me that I couldn't just "be stronger" and "fight my way through". Illnesses are not battles. There are times, of course, where there are parallels (my mental real estate does often feel like some sort of World War III) but it is not the same. I am someone who struggles with a mental illness. I am not a soldier or a warrior or a fighter etc. etc. And the same was true for my friend. She did not die last week because she lacked the strength to keep trying. And I don't believe that if she had been stronger or if she had "fought harder" that the outcome necessarily would have been different. She had an illness. I think that there are many factors that play into whether or not a person recovers, and I am not sure, given our experiences together and conversations thereafter, that she ever truly received the treatment she needed, but I don't see personal strength as being one of them. To imply such is to subtly (or not so subtly) shame those who remain sick and unable to "beat" their disease. It is truly no different than saying that someone with terminal cancer "lost their battle", or "could not keep fighting". The psyche is powerful, yes, but illness is far too complex to be "fought against" by sheer strength and will. It simply does not work that way.
I feel protective not only of my dear friend who passed, but of my other friends who continue to struggle. I do not want the (well-intentioned) "inspirational" messages to invalidate the larger reality of a disease that is outside of their immediate control, and more than anything I don't want this friend, or any of my friends, to be remembered as being "not strong enough to win their battle." Recovery does involve choices, hard ones, and lots of them - so I also don't want this post to communicate hopelessness or helplessness in the midst of struggle, but it is far more complex than just "fighting". My best friend took her life after spending over a decade struggling with both Anorexia and Bulimia, and one of the things she talked about with regularity was the feeling that she was defective, that there was "something missing" - because she wanted recovery so, so badly and tried time after time with every ounce of persistence and resilience known to mankind, and still couldn't seem to 'make it happen'. I think there is a wide-spread misunderstanding surrounding eating disorders and mental illnesses in general, that if an individual wants to get better badly enough, and if they try harder enough, they will be able to. And while I wish it were that simple, I don't believe that it works that way. I don't believe that every person out there is capable of recovery, and I think we need to stop speaking as though that is the case.
I hope this post doesn't feel discouraging or disheartening to those who read it, but having seen so many of these messages floating around on social media, especially in reference to someone whom I cared so much about, I felt the need to share my perspective. My friend did not get well simply because she did not get well. Not everyone does. She did not pass away due to lacking the necessary strength to get better, and I want her to be remembered not as someone who "lost her battle", but as the wonderful person that she was.
